


When the Storm Breaks Through I'll Be Standing There

by redqueentheory, Wildgoosery



Series: I'm With the Band [25]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Biting, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Threesome, Way too much corporate nonsense for this kinda fic series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redqueentheory/pseuds/redqueentheory, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildgoosery/pseuds/Wildgoosery
Summary: Taako repeatedly corners himself. Kravitz gets results. Brad has a helluva night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako miscalculates on a number of fronts. Kravitz smoothes a few things over. Brad is blindsided.

 

The monthly divisional meeting was a creation of Brad’s, originally. 

Lucretia had inoculated him within an hour of his accepting his position, and that had filled in some gaps as to the Bureau’s basic mission and why he’d have to live on campus. But the practicalities of day-to-day operations -- the thing he’d been explicitly hired to manage -- had been a total mystery. He’d been hesitant to pin her down at first, thinking that there had to be a strategic reason for how close-lipped she was about her plans for the Bureau and how it was run. But no. No, it turned out that she’s just a much better mage than a manager.

Lucretia has always been Brad’s only supervisor, and her answers to his questions back then ranged from comically obtuse to nonexistent. He was given no documentation to speak of. No on-boarding beyond a tour of the base and a key to his new apartment. No staff and no guidelines for hiring one. It took him months of relentless nagging to track down what his budget was for basic office supplies.

But there’s only so long someone can do their job in the dark before stumbling on real problems, and he’d eventually had to politely insist on sitting down with a list of outstanding questions that couldn’t be left to guesswork. Ten minutes in, it became very clear that Lucretia’s choice to keep things close to her chest hadn’t actually been a choice at all, but rather the only way she’d known how to run things.

Brad had taken the opportunity to gently convince her of the benefits of regular check-ins, and there’s been a meeting on the third Friday of the month ever since. In the early years it had just been Brad, sitting awkwardly in Lucretia’s office with a clipboard as he outlined his own reports and tentatively sought direction. Eventually it grew into a productive hour's work with an agenda and minutes and each section head in attendance. For most of the last year, it’s been Lucretia, Charity, Killian and himself; a useful hour of coordination and also, a chance to spend time with the colleagues whose company he most enjoys.

The chair rotates, but privately he thinks it’s always best when Charity runs things - she’s honed her approach mercilessly, more methodical in controlling the room than even Brad is. Any lapses in attention are met with a pointed click of her nails on the conference room table.

Today is the first such meeting since Brad’s shift to half-Fridays. The agenda has him speaking to a staffing update, but Brad can’t help but feel this was more of a gesture than because he’s particularly necessary; Charity knows the ins and outs of staff movements as well as he does. 

She glances at her copy of the agenda. “Well then - last item, any other business?”

There’s a pause, and just as Charity opens her mouth again to close the meeting, Killian says cheerfully, “What’s everyone up to for the holidays?”

Charity looks miffed, but Killian grins over the table at her. “It’s a staff issue, isn’t it? Wellbeing?”

A sigh. “You’re probably right.” And then the professionalism dissolves into something a little more relaxed; Charity leans back in her chair, steeples her fingers, and smiles wickedly. “Bradson here signed off on an irresponsible amount of leave, so I’m going to lie on a beach down in Rosewater for two entire weeks.”

“Remember how you used to call me Mr. Bradson?” Brad says, mildly. “I feel like you don’t respect me anymore.”

Charity snorts. “What are you doing on  _ your _ break,  _ Mr.  _ Bradson?”

“I’ll go and visit my parents, as usual,” he says, then hesitates. Everyone in this room already knows -- everyone in Landfall, really, it’s a small village and this is good gossip -- but he hasn’t entirely gotten used his private life being so much less private. “And I suppose there will be some sort of evening out with Taako and Kravitz.” He quirks a corner of his mouth.  "I’ve been instructed to pack a suit.”

“Bring the one you wore to the Gala,” Killian says, “it makes you look taller.”

“How is Taako?” Lucretia asks quietly. 

“Well,” Brad says. “He’s...we’re all very well.”

Charity smirks ruthlessly. “So it’s ‘we’ now?”

“What about you, Lucretia?” Brad asks, pointedly not looking at Charity. “I hope you’ll be taking some leave of your own. There certainly aren’t any issues pressing enough to warrant your working through the break.”

Lucretia’s smile shutters somewhat. “Just a small family dinner,” she says. 

“We’re heading up north for a big Fangbattle reunion,” Killian says into the awkward silence that follows. “Bradson,  _ please _ say you’ll pick up a couple bags of potato beans while you’re back home, no one carries them around here, it’s ridiculous.”

“Of course,” Brad says. 

Killian blows out a loud sigh. “Man, it’s gonna be pretty weird not to have a big party here at the Bureau. Like don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to be on the ground again. Can’t live at Moon Camp forever.” Soft chuckles around the table. “But we had some good times together, in between all the funerals. Been missing Avi’s rum punch.”

“Ask him for the recipe,” Charity says, clipped but not unkind. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to my desk. I have a stack of reimbursements to clear before I can leave for the day.”

Brad glances at the clock above the conference room door. “I can catch a later train if you’d like a hand with-”

“No need,” says Charity as she gathers up her papers. “It would take as long to walk you through it all as to do them myself.”

Brad frowns as he closes his notebook. “It really wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Charity pushes back from the table, and waves her hand dismissively. “Go enjoy yourself. Drink some champagne for me, just be sure Taako’s paying for it.”

“We did agree on half-Fridays and Mondays,” Lucretia says.

“And take your  _ whole _ vacation,” Killian adds, playing at severity. “You better not show your face here until next Monday.”

“I live on campus.”

“For now,” Charity quips, and is through the door before Brad can reply, her intern scrambling to keep pace. 

Killian gives him a knowing look as she tidies up her own folders, and he asks, "What is it?"

"You didn't argue," she says. They push their chairs back from the desk in tandem, and Killian waves her hand to Lucretia in farewell.

"I didn't really get the chance," Brad says dryly, following her toward the door.

"Are you planning to stay here forever?"

Brad casts a quick glance back at Lucretia, who's looking studiously elsewhere as she steps out of the conference room behind them. "I haven't thought about it."

"Don't let it sneak up on you," Killian advises. "Moving is a pain in the ass."

"So is commuting every day," Brad counters. "But noted."

"Yeah, gods forbid you live more than a five minute walk from work,” Killian says, grinning at him. She peels off down another corridor, waving as she calls back over her shoulder, "Enjoy your fancy date."

"I'll do my level best," Brad says. "Send my regards to the Fangbattles."

Killian disappears around a corner, and a few strides later Brad and Lucretia are at the door to HR. Lucretia’s office is in an entirely different building, and normally this is where they’d exchange brief well-wishes and go their separate ways. But she has a fidgety, awkward look about her which Brad has come to recognize over the years, and so he asks, quietly, “Would you like to come in for a moment? I was going to make coffee.”

She flashes a tight, self-conscious smile. “No. Thank you, Brad, that’s very kind but I should...I have things to do before everyone disappears for the holiday.”

“Of course,” he says, but doesn’t move to step into his office. And she continues to stand in the hall beside him, her lips pressed together.

“I had a meeting with the village council earlier this week,” she says. “They all speak very highly of you.”

“Oh?”

“Marjory, from the post office...how did she put it...” A soft laugh. “Something about how Landfall would still be a hole in the ground without you.”

“I doubt that’s true,” Brad says, “but the sentiment is appreciated. I’m glad to have been helpful.”

“Brad, don’t be humble with me. We both know you’re the only reason this Moon isn’t still floating around and burning gold as it goes.”

“Well.” He smiles a little. “Perhaps.”

“I only wanted to say...” She picks at the hem of her robes. “I know it’s been a strange year for you. I know, and I’m grateful you stuck it out.” Another smile, tired and a little sad. “I don’t say that often enough.”

For a moment, Brad can’t think what to say to that. Eventually, he manages, “We do good work here.”

“Yes,” she says. She looks like she wants to say something else, and part of him wants to try to excavate it -- to insist she come sit with him in his office, to tell her it’s fine if he misses his train, to spend the next hour or so dragging whatever’s bothering her out into the open. 

But even as he’s thinking all of this, Lucretia is turning away. “Happy Candlenights,” she says, and is gone.

*

Kravitz has agreed to normal clothing for the night, in all its fussy permanence, because Taako specifically asked him to and he rarely refuses a direct request. And while he doesn't regret it exactly, it does feel rather fitting that he’s midway through a complicated knot in his cravat when there’s a knock at the front door.

Taako’s voice echoes from the bathroom. “Didn’t we give him a key?”

“I expect he means to be polite,” Kravitz says, and leaves the silk hanging loose around his neck as he strides out into the hall. 

Brad is standing at their front door with his usual small duffel and a garment bag slung over his shoulder. He’s still dressed in his clothes from work, which are rumpled somewhat from the hours of public transit which he insists on enduring every week, despite Kravitz’s offers to fetch him. Brad’s eyes go a bit round as he looks Kravitz over; takes in the fitted black jacket, the gray silk vest, the slim trousers. The cravat draped around Kravitz’s neck.  

"Am I late?” Brad asks as Kravitz waves him through the door. “Taako didn't mention we had reservations somewhere..."

"As it happens, he didn't properly read the invitation until about an hour ago. It seems there's some sort of photography scheduled to begin at half past seven." Having closed the door again, Kravitz goes up on his toes for a quick kiss, then holds up the ends of his cravat. "I don't suppose you know how to...?"

Brad frowns as he twists and tucks the silk into place. "Photography?"

"I don’t entirely understand it myself, portraiture was confined to oils when last I was involved in this sort of thing. Ah, perfect!" Kravitz examines his reflection in the small mirror over the key hooks, then waves for Brad to follow him back toward the bedroom. "Did he tell you to bring the suit from the Gala? I've heard tell it made your ass look absolutely phenomenal."

Brad says, "Yes, but I-"

"Didn't we give you a key?" Taako is standing at the foot of the bed with a glittering silver dress halfway zipped up his back. There’s a snowdrift of rejects piled around his feet, which has somehow grown in the minute or so it took Kravitz to answer the door.

"I prefer not to burst into other people's homes," Brad says, although he's smiling a little, soft with affection. He crosses the room to press one hand to bare skin low on Taako’s spine, and leans down for a kiss. "Hello."

"Hi, get dressed," Taako says, any playfulness undermined by nervy impatience.  "And please tell me you brought a shirt with French cuffs,  _ please  _ fucking reassure me that you weren't raised in a barn."

Brad lays his garment bag out on the bed and zips it open, revealing a charcoal gray suit with a crisp white shirt tucked into the jacket. Unhurried, he slips the shirt and its hanger free, holds it up in front of him, and gestures to the cuffs. “Will the mother-of-pearl cufflinks be satisfactory?” he asks, dry.

“You can borrow some of mine,” Taako says, then picks disdainfully at the queue that hangs down Brad’s back. “You gotta stop shampooing every day, my dude. Hold still, I’m gonna-”

“Please don’t magic my hair,” Brad says, still pleasant but perhaps running low on patience. “Taako-”

“Fine, just put it up, whatever!” Taako blows out a sigh and scrabbles at the zipper behind him. “Fuck! How did it get so fucking  _ late _ ?”

“Pet,” Brad says. And there, at last, is the weight of warning. “I would appreciate some details as to our plans for the evening.”

Taako’s ears whip back.

“Kravitz mentioned an invitation?” Brad prompts. “Something about a photographer?”

The zipper abandoned, one of Taako’s hands comes up to rub the nape of his neck. “Yeah, so...listen.. _. _ ”

It’s about then that Kravitz at last sees the shape of things. The questions he had taken as yet another game of patience -- a stern strategic slowing down to frustrate Taako’s frenzied preparations -- are now laid bare as genuine confusion by the look on Brad’s face. 

“Is there an event tonight that we’re expected at?” Brad asks, unknowingly twisting the knife. “I didn’t see anything in my calendar.”

The fastest way to resolve this, Kravitz suspects, would be to fish the invitation itself out of the pile of discarded silk on their dresser and press it into Brad’s hand. The details are all there, although in Kravitz’s opinion the calligrapher rather sacrificed clarity in favor of stylistic flourishes. But the centuries have taught him it’s often better for mortals to stumble their own way through things. In particular, conversations which said mortals appear to have previously slithered out of. 

That said, Kravitz isn’t without his own vices. He seats himself on the edge of the bedroom armchair, leans his elbow on the armrest and his face against his hand, and adopts the distinct manner of somebody watching a play.

Taako shoots a look at him, then says to Brad, “There’s...kind of a thing. Actually.”

“I’d gathered,” Brad says. 

“For, ah. For charity.”

Brad arches a brow. “My administrative assistant has invited you to a party?”

Kravitz presses his mouth into his palm to stifle a laugh.

Taako shifts his weight between bare feet. “Okay so remember how I said that everyone keeps asking me to go these fucking fundraisers for like, pegasus wildlife preserves or whatever?”

“I recall your telling me that you would rather chew off your own leg than be trapped in a room full of...” Brad pauses. “How did you put it?”

“‘Rich-ass randos,’ I believe,” Kravitz offers, helpfully.

“I did say that, yeah,” Taako hedges, awkward. “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah uh, so turns out Sloane and Hurley are doing this whole like, downtown revitalization something or other. And I  _ told _ them I’m not really so big on public appearances, but Hurley had to go lean on  _ Mags _ and then Mags leaned on  _ me _ , and...” He gestures, whirling a hand. “Those kids have been through a lot, I guess the whole dryad transition’s been rocky, and we do  _ live  _ here now so, you know, making nice with the neighbors. Who wanna raise money to build...parks. I guess. So.”

“I’m familiar with the political landscape of Goldcliff,” Brad says. “And with the concept of fundraisers. Having organized several.”

Taako steps away from Brad's hand, grabs his Stone from where it’s sitting on the dresser, and flicks open the spell. “Hey listen, we gotta be there in like fifteen minutes, so maybe we can put a pin in this and-”

“If you had mentioned the nature of the evening’s plans,” Brad says with sanded-down evenness, “I would have made different arrangements for travel, and arrived at an earlier hour.”

“Yeah, all right, fair,” Taako mumbles.

“And I would prefer, generally, to be aware of commitments which have been made on my behalf.”

Taako huffs a frustrated sigh. “Fuck, Brad, just ease up on me okay? I really hate this shit, I was still on the fence about whether I was gonna even show up at all until like, two hours ago, and you were already on the train, and I knew if I told you about it you’d just be so... _ reasonable _ !” This last bit is accompanied by an eyeroll, although Kravitz suspects that's at least partly self-directed. “And sometimes a guy wants to be a freaked out mess in peace, all right?” Taako crosses his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched up towards his ears. “Look, I know I shoulda said something, okay? You happy? I’m sorry!”

Brad steps forward to close the space between them again, and takes gentle hold of Taako's shoulders. “Are you going to ask me if I would like to attend this event with you?”

Taako's grip on his own upper arms tightens. “Well?”

“Pet.”

Taako sighs again, louder and even more dramatic. “Do you wanna go to a boring charity cocktail party and watch me suck up to donors all night like a fucking chump?”

Brad leans in and kisses Taako’s forehead. “I would, thank you,” he says. From anyone else it would have been patronizing, Kravitz expects, but there’s a quiet earnestness to Brad's voice. One that Taako must hear, too, because a little more of the tension unwinds from his body. “I'm normally the one organizing this variety of event,” Brad says. “It'll be a welcome change of pace to attend as a guest.”

“Well you can't do much better than being my plus one.” 

“You were allotted a plus  _ two _ , I hope?”

Taako uncrosses his arms to wave this off. “They'll just be glad I didn't flake, it's fine.” He glances up at Brad as the corner of his mouth quirks. “Plus, I'm bringing a couple of stone cold hotties.”

Brad chuckles softly at that. “Noted.” He lifts a hand and cups Taako’s cheek. “You don't have to be nervous about this.”

“Mm.” He leans into Brad’s palm. “Ugh, I shoulda fuckin told you. If you'd gotten here early we could've at least had a quickie.”

“We still could,” Kravitz says, and he isn’t entirely joking. Still only half-fastened, Taako’s dress hangs low on his chest, one small brown nipple just visible above the neckline. He also hasn’t yet sorted out his underwear, and the silver fabric drapes obviously -- deliciously -- over the mound of his cock. It’s a testament to Kravitz’s commitment to mortal timetables that Taako has been in this state for at least a quarter of an hour and Kravitz hasn’t once reached over to cup his palm around any number of things. But Kravitz is, of course, very happy to go along with any sexual derailment initiated by someone else.

“Literally the only good thing that’ll come out of this stupid party is a professional quality photograph of the three of us in black tie,” Taako drawls.

“Also money,” Brad says. “For charity.”

“Full body shots, prolly, and the photographer’s only gonna be there for the first hour or something,” Taako continues seamlessly. “Which means we gotta be on time and I can’t have come dripping down my leg.”

“We do have toys to help with that,” Kravitz says, thoughtful, and Brad coughs out a startled laugh.

“Tell you what, handsome, you get us there by eight and I’ll let you fuck me later in this 500 GP dress.” Taako spins around and points at his back. “Please?”

Brad gently pulls the zipper up the rest of the way. “How long do we have, exactly?”

“As long as it takes me to sort this out,” Taako says, and gestures to his face. “Krav can you...earrings?” He bolts into the bathroom in a flashy streak of silver.

Brad shucks his work shirt and lays it carefully on the bed, as if Taako won’t eventually either dump it on the floor or shove it in the hamper. Then he looks to Kravitz and asks, “Did you know about this?”

“Vaguely? He’s invited to so many of these things, you see. I hadn’t noticed this particular invitation until he showed it to me last week.”

Brad removes his trousers and belt, then his socks. He silently lifts every item from the garment bag, then sorts through the duffel for fresh socks and a pair of soft leather shoes. “When last week?” 

“Oh I haven’t any idea. Middish?”

“I see.” Brad sits on the edge of the bed to pull on the new socks, and Kravitz glimpses a small frown, directed at the floor. “You aren’t Taako’s keeper, of course. But you could have told me about this possibility yourself.”

Kravitz winces. “Ah.” 

“I understand you were in a difficult position-”

“No, don’t you dare,” Kravitz says, a little too snappish. “I needn’t have any more excuses made for me.” He groans and drags a hand down his face. “I’ve rather bollocksed this up, haven't I?”

“That seems overly harsh.” Brad stands again and reaches for the suit’s trousers. 

“Oh, I disagree,” Kravitz says, light. “I'm far too old to be dancing around the awkward bits of my romantic life, it's embarrassing really.” 

“Mm.”

“I’m offering apologies, if that isn't clear.”

“Well.” Brad smiles at him sideways and says, low, “Accepted.”

“Excellent,” Kravitz says, then clicks his tongue as Brad begins to step into the trousers. “You know, this is a  _ very _ prestigious event. Surely it warrants freshly laundered undergarments.”

Brad looks back at Kravitz over his shoulder. “Don't you need to ‘earrings’?” he asks, droll.

“In a moment,” Kravitz says. “Rather thought I’d enjoy the show, first.” He makes a point of leaning further into the elegant splay of his own fingers; crosses and uncrosses his legs. “Please, continue.”

The look Brad fixes him with is firmly dispassionate. He drops the trousers to the bed again, pulls his cotton boxers down over his hips, and steps out of them. Then he turns fully around, dressed only in black socks, and meets Kravitz’s eyes directly. “Do let me know when I can put the new pair on.”

Kravitz, gleefully unselfconscious, rakes Brad with his gaze - admiring the short, fine hairs which curl at his temples, wandering down over his neck and arms and chest, lingering on his cock and thighs. Kravitz chuckles to himself, pleased. “All looks well enough, you may continue.”

“Earrings!” comes the somewhat urgent call from the bathroom.

Brad sighs as he pulls on clean underwear and smooth black trousers. “He did tell me to bring the suit, at least.”

A pair of platinum and diamond chandeliers are selected from the churn on Taako’s nightstand, and Kravitz flashes Brad a toothy flirt of a smile as he slips into the bathroom. Taako is brushing on eyeshadow with grim manic energy, but he does mutter a “thank you” as Kravitz carefully replaces the small gold hoops which Taako had put in that morning. 

Perhaps because he hasn’t needed to dress himself for any reason other than entertainment in quite a long time, and therefore tends to dally with the details himself, Kravitz is surprised to find Brad fully clothed when he comes back out into the bedroom. Surprised and  _ delighted _ \-- he’s only ever seen Brad presented so formally in pictures.

Kravitz hums, appraising. “A little eyeliner, I think?”

Brad regards his reflection as he tugs the loops of his tie into place. “Yes, I’d say so.”

Kravitz ducks back into the bathroom long enough to kiss Taako’s cheek and grab an eye pencil from the counter. “Sit on the edge of the bed,” he says as he crosses the room again toward Brad. “You’re much too tall for me to see what I’m doing.”

“I can manage on my own,” Brad says, and holds a hand out for the pencil. 

“I won’t poke you.”

“Of course,” Brad says, “but I have my own way of doing certain things.”

Kravitz wonders, privately, how long it would take to magic away Brad’s first attempt and whether there’d be time to start over. Reluctant and steeling himself for the worst, he surrenders the pencil. “You don’t seem the type, I’ll admit.”

Brad sets his glasses on the dresser, then leans in close to the mirror. “I’ve been in a great many theatrical productions with no budget for makeup artists,” he says as he lifts the pencil to one eye. “And I’ve spent some years moving in circles which prioritize...presentation.”

Kravitz watches as Brad draws a smooth line of waxy black along his upper lid. “Presentation,” Kravitz echoes. 

Brad shifts his hand to the other eye. “It’s not a lifestyle that meshed well with my tenure at the Bureau,” he continues, unperturbed, “but fortunately I’ve retained some of the muscle memory.” He straightens again and slips his glasses back over his ears. “Better?”

Kravitz taps the side of his chin with one finger. “Are you  _ very _ sure we haven't time for a shag?”

"Krav, I swear to god, I’m gonna dump ice over your head,” Taako mutters, distracted, as he leaves the bathroom. He stutters to a halt at the sight of Brad. "Holy shit."

"Did it himself," Kravitz says. 

"S'really… working for you." Taako's voice wobbles a little. "Like a lot."

"I play to my strengths," Brad says, without a hint of irony. "Another of which is being punctual, so if you're ready?"

"Yeah, okay," Taako mutters. Squares his shoulders. "Okay. Let's do this."

*

Kravitz deposits them on the far side of City Hall Plaza, safely outside the corona of party goers and press. Only a couple of pedestrians take notice as they step through the tear in reality. They’re more interested in Taako than in the strange way he’s arrived, but fortunately this time around a smile and a tossed-off wave are enough to satisfy them. They walk on, their heads bent together, and have disappeared into the crowd before the fizzling hum of Kravitz's magic has dissolved.

Even from here, Taako can tell this is going to be a fancy-ass party. The entire facade of City Hall has been draped with lights and bunting, and a quick scan of the crowd reveals four dresses he’s pretty sure cost more than his. He still isn't entirely sure why he agreed to do this, but at least the booze is gonna be some top shelf shit.   
  
"All right," he says, mostly to himself. Kravitz slides in behind him, his hand a soft press against Taako's hip.   
  
"I'm quite keen to find out what professional events are like for mortals these days," Kravitz says.   
  
"Nothing like yours," Taako murmurs at him. 

"I'm sure there'll be the odd thread of commonality." Kravitz grins. "I do find ways to entertain myself."

"Yeah, not  _ super  _ subtle about that one, are you?" Taako says, trying to sound the slightest bit haughty instead of just eager. "Go easy, huh? Taako get tired real quick these days."   
  
The thrum of Kravitz' laugh is a comfort. "I promise." 

Brad is standing a short distance away, and the way he’s tucked his hands into his pockets suggests he’s unsure what else to do with them. "We should head in," he says quietly. He gestures to a person at the foot of the stairs - the promised official photographer by the look of the kit. “If you’re ready...?”   
  
Taako quails a little. The one thing he was specifically looking forward to, and yet...now that he’s actually  _ here _ ... “So like...what’s the deal with photos at a thing like this, anyway. Do they...put them up on some bulletin board at Charity HQ or...?”

“I expect they’ll be used as a commemorative gift for attendees,” Brad says, “and as promotional material for the organization. Included in a newsletter, perhaps.” A small smile. “I’m confident that if you ask for our portrait not to be distributed, the staff would be happy to-”

“Nope it’s fine,” Taako says, abruptly annoyed at himself. He takes a deliberate step toward Brad and loops an arm through his elbow. “C'mon, let's grace this shindig with our presences already.”

The photographer is flashing away at a couple of dwarves, their jewellery the kind of understated which Taako immediately identifies as very, very expensive. There's no line otherwise, and Taako barely has time to fuss with his hair before photographer’s assistant is waving them over.

It all takes a minute at most. The photographer is clipped and professional, issuing rapidfire instructions to  _ tip your chin _ and  _ turn just a hair _ and  _ put your hand on his shoulder, yes, perfect _ , and then it's done, and the assistant is wishing them a lovely evening as they’re politely shooed along. 

A lush green carpet runner has been laid over the steps of City Hall. Figures in tidy black suits and shimmering gowns flow up it past a respectable gauntlet of press, their careful smiles lit by the snap and flicker of cameras. 

Many, many cameras.

Taako’s not really sure why it didn’t occur to him to expect all of this, but whatever. Whatever! If tonight’s gonna be the big public debut of Taako’s Juicy Romantic Life, at least they all look fucking  _ fantastic _ . 

The reporters immediately recognize him, of course; a few shout his name, but he doesn't slow his pace along the carpet and so, neither do his dates.  He can see faces tilting up to look at the much taller orc beside him, and the frowns of confusion, and the surreptitious glances down at whatever list they've been given. 

Taako slips his arm through Brad’s again; he clasps his hands together, white-knuckle tight, in the crook of Brad’s elbow. He's grateful for the comfort of Kravitz's palm low on his back.

At the top of the steps, they pass through a set of gilded doors and into a rosey marble rotunda. There's an obvious path to one side, decked out in floating fairy lights, and another set of doors which Taako supposes will lead them to the ballroom. There aren’t any reporters here -- only party attendees, some security, and various staff in white shirts and black trousers. The lamps are softened by vellum shades, and he turns to look at Brad and Kravitz and confirm that yes, they both look outrageously hot this lighting.

"Hello, Mr. Taako!" a cheerful voice pipes up behind him.

He barely manages not to whip his head back around. "Just Taako's cool," he says, a little startled.

The speaker - a uniformed half-elf holding a clipboard - smiles and inclines their head. “Taako, it’s my pleasure to welcome you tonight.” The smile shifts sideways. “I assume this is Mr. Kravitz?”

“Oh...yeah.” He hadn’t really thought about the whole checking-in thing.

“Charmed,” Kravitz says, unperturbed. 

Taako glances up at Brad. He probably looks just fine to a stranger but Taako can tell that he’s nervous, and has to will his ears not to flatten. What could possibly be freaking Brad out? Does he know this person? 

The half-elf makes a note on their clipboard, and their eyes shift as they skim down the list. “One moment,” they murmur, and flip between several pages before finally looking up at Brad with an air of embarrassed apology. “Sir, may I have your name?”

"This is Brad Bradson," Taako says, now acutely uncomfortable.   
  
Seconds pass in agony as they examine their papers again, a crease deepening between their brows. Taako’s stomach sinks. "My apologies, we seems to have made an oversight of some kind..."   
  
Kravitz slaps his forehead, then, although he manages to make it look elegant. "Darling I'm  _ so _ sorry, I know you asked me to arrange this, I must have left it too late." He turns the full force of his most winning smile on the half-elf, who blushes immediately. "Entirely my cockup!” 

“Oh, it’s...not an issue at all, Mr. Kravitz, Taako is a personal guest of the hosts and is welcome to include whomever he likes in his party! I...” They turn to Brad again, thoroughly flustered. “My pardon, is that B R A D S O N? Only I want to be sure you’re included in our public thanks of tonight’s supporters.”

“That’s correct,” Brad rumbles, even stiffer than usual. “Thank you.”

Still pink in the ears, the half-elf makes another note and says, “Again, so sorry for the trouble! The coat check is to your right and the restrooms are just down that hallway, thank you for coming, we’re so happy to have you, please enjoy your evening!” It all comes out in a rush that squeaks a bit at the end, the color deepening in their cheeks.

"The pleasure is ours entirely," Kravitz purrs as he swoops past them, honeyed voice warm and intoxicating. 

"You hit that poor kid like a freight train," Taako mutters once they’re out of earshot.

"You don't find me distractingly charismatic and compelling?" Kravitz asks, grinning. 

“Look at my life, look at my choices, what the hell do you think?” Taako tries to sound flip but he’s watching Brad again, who in turn is looking back over his shoulder.   
  
“I should have asked them about the policy regarding gratuities,” Brad says distantly. “I suppose if there’s some sort of a tip jar by the bartender, that’s my answer...”

“My dear I  _ forbid _ you from handling cash in black tie,” Kravitz says, appalled.

“And I’m inclined to follow instructions,” Brad says. “I’ve had my fill of faux pas for the evening.”

Taako winces. They’re nearly to the party, now, and its roar of music and voices. Taako slows and steps to the side, out of the flow of other guests. "Yeah, hey, I'm sorry about that," he says, voice low, as Brad and Kravitz turn to look at him. “I guess I just thought it’d be cool?”

“You’re a personal guest of the hosts,” Brad says. “That was a reasonable expectation.”

“And listen, seriously, I didn't...it’s not like I said I was bringing Krav, Hurls and Sloane just, you know. They’ve met him already, they must’ve figured-"

"It's all right," Brad rumbles. And then after a beat, "Although if you decide to make a habit of attending benefits, you may need a personal secretary to manage things for you."

Taako laughs, even as another churn of guilt wrenches his stomach. "Kinda dropped the ball,” he says. “Like off a cliff.”

“You’ll make it up to me later,” Brad says, and smiles. It's meant to put Taako at ease, and it works; the agitated misery recedes a little. When Brad offers a crooked arm, Taako loops his own around it again and allows himself to be led through an enormous set of dark wooden doors, Kravitz’s hand still warm on his back. 

Beyond the doors isn’t a ballroom so much as a lush courtyard, fancier than anything Taako would’ve expected in a city government building. A fountain burbles gently at the center, lit by cool blue witchlight that shimmers off silk and sequins as the crowd moves around it. Trees wound with twinkling strings arc overhead into a soft canopy hung with blown glass, which parts in the center to reveal an inky sky. 

The invite list for this thing is exclusive enough that no one turns to gawk, but Taako catches the flicker of eyes, the heads leaning in to whisper, the way the gravity of the crowd shifts to put him at the center. These people are way too posh to be over-familiar, like no one here is gonna ask him weird questions about about Lup or make sad noises about how he should fix things up with Lucretia. They'll watch, and they'll whisper, and maybe if they're feeling real bold they'll say something nice about his outfit.

Which is exactly what he’d been aiming for, right? Draped in quicksilver with a demigod to one side and a ruggedly handsome mystery orc to the other, he’s an intrigue generating machine; a walking gossip column, and for once he wants to just lean the hell in and enjoy the spotlight a little, spend a night swanning around while everyone else guiltily imagines the three of them having sex. Things've been so fucking weird since the whole S&S, and tonight was supposed to be a break from that weirdness. He was supposed to get to pretend for a couple of hours that he's just a hot celebrity chef, not a literal fucking alien.

And yet, here he is, watching the Goldcliff elite pretend not to watch him, and it doesn't feel like a break. He's itchy with the memory of Brad's uncertain voice; how wrong-footed and embarrassed Brad had sounded during that agony of a check-in. Not exactly the ideal way to kick off a fabulous evening out.

Kravitz, either oblivious to Taako's frustrated brooding or willfully sidestepping it, rubs idle circles on Taako's back as he surveys their options. “Well then!” he says brightly, and waves to a halfling waiter carrying a tray of something amber and sparkling.

The waiter sweeps toward them, her silver tray balanced on one hand and held at shoulder height, which puts it just within Kravitz’s easy reach. He plucks a glass up in each hand and offers them to Taako and Brad, then takes a third himself. 

The waiter melts away into the crowd, and Kravitz holds his drink aloft. “To a memorable night on the town,” he says. But as he moves it to his lips, a voice calls out, “Hold up! I want in!”

As Taako looks over, Hurley strides toward them through the crowd, dressed in an olive green suit and sleek brown shoes, a glass held out in front of her. “Krav, I’m hijacking your toast!” she crows. “Cheers to you knuckleheads for actually showing up!”

These absolutely aren’t clinking glasses, but Taako doesn’t give a shit. “Wouldn’t miss it, kid,” he says, and taps his flute to everyone else’s with a sharp ring of crystal before taking a generous swallow. Kravitz drains his glass in one go, which he somehow makes look elegant instead of trashy. 

“For real though,” Taako goes on as she pulls him into a one-armed hug. “Pretty sweet setup you got going here,  _ very _ classy.”

“That’s how you know they didn’t let me help,” she says with a grin. “Krav, I’m so glad you could make it! You’re always so busy with your job, I wasn’t sure if you’d get the night off.”

“I’ve reduced my hours of late,” Kravitz says. “A sharp turn into the domestic, it’s all desperately sentimental.”

Hurley laughs. And then she turns to look at Brad, the questions already clear behind her eyes. Only this time, as his stomach lurches with  _ shit not again _ , Taako opens his mouth before he can think better of it, and says, “This is my boyfriend, Brad.”

Hurley, bless her fucking heart, doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh! From the Bureau? I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you from the photos!”

“A pleasure,” Brad rumbles, and shakes her hand. 

It may be a trick of the light, but Taako thinks there’s color in his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry! BEEN A WHILE! 
> 
> RQT and Goose spent a few months picking away this monster of a fic, and are now pleased to present you all with four chapters of us being FULLY on our bullshit.
> 
> Thanks to all the friends and readers who cheered us on while we toiled in the fic mines! 
> 
> Thank you to Gulch for being our steadfast ally and comrade in being REALLY fucking mean to Brad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kravitz is an asset to the cause. Brad runs into two people he's met before. Taako learns something.

Watching the greeter examine their list in the City Hall rotunda, Brad fully expected to be turned away. As they flipped between pages, Brad silently composed a script for his exit, sorting out how he might convince Taako and Kravitz to stay while he returned alone to their apartment. Something about how they should enjoy themselves after going through all that trouble to get ready. Maybe a half-baked innuendo about having plenty of time to prepare for their return. And then he’d let himself back into their place, and pour himself a generous tumbler of Kravitz’s best whiskey and, realistically, call his sister for an hour or so until he shook off the worst of the humiliation.

In retrospect, Brad can see it was ridiculous to worry -- Taako is one of the most important people in the world, no one is going to tell him he can’t have one additional person in his party. Brad has organized plenty of these events himself, and made allowances for far less prominent guests. Taako could have brought a bag of angry cats along with him and the hosts would have found a way to make things work.

But ridiculous or not, the clench in Brad’s gut was undeniable. And a rosey outcome doesn’t make the reminder of his own superfluousness any less unpleasant.

Once they’d passed that first gatekeeper, his relief had lasted perhaps ten yards. Until they stepped into the main courtyard and he realized, far too late, precisely how out of place he would be. Taako’s earrings should have clued him in -- casually fished out a slurry of jewels, each of them is likely worth more than every item of clothing Brad owns combined. And then the dress, one of dozens he’d seen strewn around the room, and yet more beautifully made than any he’d seen this close outside a museum, the fabric like water under his hands. And Kravitz’s immaculately tailored tailcoat, the vest embroidered with a delicate pattern of feathers.

As a flute of sparkling wine is pressed into his hand, Brad is painfully aware of his own borrowed cufflinks and aging leather shoes; his plain workhorse of a suit, bought with an early Bureau paycheck to wear to his older sister’s wedding. His “best” suit in that it’s the only one he owns that hasn’t been clumsily altered by magic to fit his age-broadened shoulders.

Standing in that glittering confection of a courtyard, it’s not the anonymity that bothers him -- that he’s used to, and expects, and honestly enjoys. No, it’s not that at all. It’s the bone-deep conviction that he’s desperately out of place; the creeping suspicion of looking foolish in a room full of people too polite to say so.

And all of this discomfort clangs, awkward and disjointed, against how it had felt to be so casually introduced as Taako's boyfriend.

On the one hand, Brad can't pretend to himself that he wasn't warmly pleased by it --  he hasn't been someone's “boyfriend” since before he joined the Bureau. He is deeply, dizzyingly in love. He wants to be further folded into the heart of Taako's life.

On the other...well. It would have been nice to have this conversation about their relationship status _be_ a conversation, and not a hasty unilateral decision made in the course of casual chitchat, dropped on his head like an emotional grenade.

Regardless. Brad has worked closely with Lucretia for years. He is dating two chaos-generating machines. He’s weathered wilder shifts in mood than this, and he’ll be fine as soon as he’s had a chance to get his balance back. In the meantime, he plasters a neutral, pleasant mask on his face in the hopes that it will keep anyone from looking at him too closely, nods along and laughs in the right places as Taako and Kravitz exchange minutiae with the halfling. With Hurley, who hadn’t known to put Brad on the list, because until about ten minutes ago Taako wouldn’t tell anyone that he and Brad are dating, and now, is offhandedly introducing him as-

In an effort to distract himself Brad glances around the room. There are glossy banners to either side of a slightly raised stage, and he recognises the _Goldcliff Revitalisation: Waterfall to Wilds_ project branding from slick advertisements in Taako and Kravitz' newspapers. He doesn't remember much _other_ than the branding. He wonders idly if there's a prospectus or a master plan somewhere, and turns to ask Hurley only to find that she's taking her leave, drawn off by some other conversation.

"Right," Kravitz says, with a hint of the air of a schoolteacher perhaps. Or a drill sergeant. "Down to business, I think. Name me a target, would you?"

Taako sighs, rueful but clearly fond. "You can't help yourself."

"You set the terms, as usual," Kravitz says, the hint of a smirk playing over his face. "What am I playing for tonight?"

Taako elbows Brad gently in the ribs. "What gross sex thing do you wanna promise Kravitz if he can get these rich people to open up their checkbooks?"

Brad blinks, and says, "I'm sorry?" as politely as he can manage.

Taako waves a hand, and then tips his head towards the crowd. "That group in the middle there, with the...see, that tiefling in the purple dress. I'll suck you off under your desk at work. But there's a five minute limit."

“On the desk fellatio or this evening's attempt?”

“Latter.”

"Perfect," Kravitz crows, and hands his glass to Taako without looking, who dutifully accepts it.

And Brad watches, first taken aback and then spellbound by the vision of Kravitz descending like a force of nature on the gaggle of people which Taako selected. It's as though some internal switch has been flicked; he's purposeful, the usual casual fluidity sharpened into an instrument of persuasion. He insinuates himself into the group in moments; quickly takes stock of the ringleader, angles himself towards them with gentle touches and what likely seems to them like a genuine grin. Even from a distance, Brad can tell it doesn't reach his eyes.

Brad is familiar with many different kinds of enticement, and it’s obvious to him how ruthlessly Kravitz is putting the hard sell. But it's hard not to be fascinated by how cleverly he does it.

"He's… really fuckin' good at this," Taako murmurs over the rim of his glass, wry.

"I read your field reports about the incident at the Miller lab," Brad says. "I wouldn’t have expected him to be so..."

Taako snorts indelicately. "Yeah, he had an 'off day', apparently."

Brad knows this game, of course; he's played it, though for different stakes. He knows that Kravitz is charming and clever and good at herding people in the directions he chooses. But this is something else entirely -- a targeted and shameless seduction, a careful prising-open of their hearts and their wallets. Brad’s impressed - collegiate admiration of a well-executed technique - but also unnerved.

Watching this relentless charisma at work, Brad can’t help but think about how often he’s been on the receiving end himself. The thought feels uncharible, but it’s hard to shake. Would he be here in this room, with these people, if he hadn’t been so expertly leaned on? Would he forgive so many inconveniences, such a total upending of his life, if he weren’t so helplessly enamored? If his own heart weren’t prised open?

 _Enough_ , he tells himself.

Kravitz is waving over a member of staff, presumably to take care of the actual check, and Brad pointedly shifts his gaze. This is a nice party. He is happy to be here. It’s a good thing that Kravitz is so helpful with fundraising.

Brad isn’t looking for anything in particular, just a distraction from his own brooding. Which is why it's such a surprise when he encounters a face that he knows: Thommir, one of the civil engineers he'd worked with for Landfall, clearly also doing rounds of the crowd.

Brad realises he’d unthinkingly written off the guest list as potential donors and their dates, but of course, there's probably contractors and suppliers here too. Likely invited as thanks for work they’ve previously done for the city, and now itching for the chance to bid for a project this significant. Done right, it'd easily make someone's career.

Kravitz returns, then, smirking and triumphant, and announces an amount of money in a low voice that has Brad reeling internally. Kravitz follows up with, "Do let me know when you'll be attending my office, darling," to which Taako merely rolls his eyes.

"So you wager your sex lives on Kravitz' charm," Brad says, as neutrally as possible.

"I'm a _very_ safe bet," Kravitz says with a smirk. "Do you want to play?" He brushes his fingers against Brad's wrist. "Turn your knack for motivation to charitable use?"

"I don't-"

"It's true," Taako chimes in. "Just put on that voice you do, big guy, people will be falling over themselves to throw money at the Skyscrapers Fund or the Parks Collection or whatever the hell."

Brad looks down at both of them, grinning deviously up at him. He collects himself, and says, "That particular variety of coercion is reserved for the bedroom." A pause, then he allows, "Or perhaps Kravitz' office."

"Or _your_ office," Taako adds.

"The living room," Kravitz says, thoughtfully. "Sometimes the toilets at bars."

"The kitchen, when I wear that apron you like-"

"That's enough," Brad says, although he wants to smile, despite himself. "No, I'm not going to play."

"Spoilsport," Kravitz says, and is clearly about to nudge Taako out into the ring when the negotiations are interrupted by a group of fellow guests descending on them.

It's strange to see from the outside how smoothly Taako and Kravitz' own masks drop into place. These are strangers, and although they're pleasant enough it's clear they've made their way over to bask in the presence of someone famous. Brad is acutely aware that _he_ will be a footnote to a self-congratulatory story, likely told over some society brunch on Sunday morning. He fields more than a few sideways glances, but no-one asks outright what he’s doing here, and it's easy enough to be a passive participant in this sort of superficial conversation. It's just the usual professional pleasantries dressed up for the evening.

So he waits the appropriate amount of time for politeness, makes the appropriate number of expected facial expressions, and finally collects Taako and Kravitz' empty glasses so that he can walk away on the pretense of finding someone to refill them. He's comforted somewhat by how little attention he's attracting -- the experience of slipping through a crowd mostly unremarked upon is novel -- and he's tentatively allowing himself to relax into things when he hears someone call his name.

Brad turns to see Thommir wave at him, and then hastily push his own way through the indifferent crowd. "I thought I recognised you.” Thommir says jovially. Then his eyes narrow. "Wait, I'm not competing with you for this contract, am I?"

"Hello, Thom. Unlikely," Brad says, dry. "I'm here purely for social reasons."

"Ha!" Thommir thumps him on the arm, although he has to raise up onto his toes to do it. "Scored yourself an invitation to one of these fancy soirees, why am I not surprised." He chuckles. “Or did Lucretia get invited and talk you into going instead?"

“Not this time," Brad says, vague but pleasant. “What have you been doing since the Landfall project?" It's a redirection, but it's also a relief to ask someone a pedestrian question about their normal job.

Thommir shrugs. "Bits and pieces, nothing big. This'll be the first really significant new project since what we did for the Bureau. But-" he trails off, looks at the glittering crowd around them, and jerks his head towards the side of the room. "Noisy, here. Shall we chat over there?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before striding off towards the side of the room, the throng parting and closing easily around him. Brad follows, curiosity piqued by the circumspection of a colleague he'd always found candid.

An efficient uniform-clad server with an empty drinks tray relieves him of the glasses in his hands, which is convenient because as soon as he catches up to Thommir the dwarf hands him a tall glass of a rich brown ale.

"Worded up the waitstaff," Thommir winks at him. "Always good to have mates behind the bar."

"Thank you," Brad says, genuinely grateful -- the champagne was a little sweet for his tastes. "Now. What are you being so cagey about?"

Thommir glances around them both again. "You're sure you're not involved in any of this?"

"Thom," Brad says, impatient. "I'd have an obvious conflict of interest if I lied to you about that."

The dwarf snorts hugely. "You're Brad Bradson, all right." He gulps his beer. "This is between you and me, got it?"

Brad nods, solemn, and Thommir nods back.

"Good. Well, obviously we want to be part of this project -- the works they're talking about are huge, and the place is called _Gold_ cliff for a reason, isn't it? But the tender request is _thin_ on detail." He shakes his head. "You know me, Bradson, I'm happy to fill in the gaps where I'm doing work for someone who doesn't know what they want. But this is- I don't think they've done a great job of scoping the thing."

"Perhaps they're looking to source concepts?"

Thommir makes a face. "Maybe. It just doesn't seem all there to me. I took a wander around the areas slated for development - you know, get a feel for the sites. Had a chat to the locals, and none of them knew much about any of it."

"Early stages still," Brad says, but he feels uneasy about it. The advertising campaign he's seen had looked well-advanced.

"Why're they seeking bids, then?" Thommir counters. "It's got the feel of one of those projects trying to run before it can walk, you know?"

Brad begins to wonder. He's really only seen the parts of Goldcliff that Taako and Kravitz frequent -- a bubble of wealth and industry at the centre of town. But he knows enough about this sort of work to understand how important it is to get the basics right. He'd spent a great deal of time post-S&S scoping out various sites for Landfall and holding town hall meetings with the locals. And he'd had the benefit of Lucas Miller doing half the work.

"It does seem odd," Brad says, slowly.

Thommir grunts. "Knew you'd see it my way. But I can't start off a business partnership by telling my potential client their plan's shite, can I?"

"There's probably a way to do it more tactfully than that," Brad says, straight-faced.

"Maybe you can tell them for me," Thommir says. "Actually, maybe you _can_." He nods at the crowd. "There she is. She know who you are?"

Brad follows Thommir's line of sight over to a tall, dangerously elegant dryad woman about twenty feet away, clearly extricating herself from a conversation. It's Sloane, Brad realises, who he knows by name, like Hurley, but hasn't actually met before. She scans the crowd, slowly, and her eyes land on him for a moment. They flash with something Brad isn't sure how to identify, and he wonders for a second if she's about to walk over to him -- probably to demand his entry credentials, he thinks, self-mocking. But then there's one of the uniformed staff at her elbow, gesturing at the stage, and she turns away.

"She doesn't," Brad says, "but I can always ask my date-" He breaks off, momentarily stumbling over what to say next, because _Taako_ introduced Brad as his _boyfriend._ Taako, who Brad can see halfway across the courtyard, laughing his real, undignified laugh at something Kravitz has leaned in to whisper, his dress glittering blue with reflected light. It's hard to stay grounded in the practicalities of the moment, to keep his own protective distance in place, when the two of them look so-

"Brad Bradson," Thommir says, beside him. Brad whips his head around to see the dwarf has followed his gaze. "Are you making cow eyes at _Taako_?"

Prevarication doesn't seem useful at this point. "He's my date," Brad says, and leaves it at that. He's long since unlearned the reflex to overexplain this sort of thing.

Thommir squints. "What about-"

"Kravitz too," Brad says. He hopes he isn't blushing again.

Thommir lets out a great peal of laughter, and claps him on the arm a second time. "You're not a man to do things by halves!" he says, guffawing. "There's a story here, isn't there?"

"A very long story, yes," Brad says, truthfully.

"Honestly, though. You some kind of sucker for punishment?"

Brad allows himself the smallest smile. "Something like that."

"Well you're suddenly of great use to me," Thommir says, mirth melting away into professionalism again, "because Taako _definitely_ knows the project team. You'd be doing me a solid if you sounded out some of what's going on with all of this."

"I'll do my best," Brad promises.

It's then that the crowd starts to move, heads turning as the lights dim. Sloane steps out onto the slightly raised stage on the far side of the courtyard.

"I'd best go find my colleague," Thommir says. "Good to see you, mate. Enjoy your night." And he winks as he ambles away into the crowd, chuckling to himself once again.  Brad finds himself cheered by it, even after the night he's had so far. It might just be the beer, he thinks, and the brief respite from the evening lent him by a practical conversation, but. He's willing to consider that it might also be the relief of telling someone else about his romantic life.

By the time he's made his way back to Taako and Kravitz, Sloane is well into an introductory spiel about the _Waterfall to Wilds_ vision for Goldcliff. A telltale prickle at the back of Brad's neck tells him her voice is magically amplified, for all it sounds like she's standing next to him to chat. The speech itself is very pretty, buzzwords about _sustainable development_ and _multi-staged project_ and a _flexible and progressive master plan_ , but it is also, Brad notes, very light on practical detail. Not unexpected for a fundraiser like this of course, but -

"Where've you been?" Kravitz murmurs, as Brad slides up to them both where they're loitering unobtrusively in front of one of the garden beds. "We saved you some hors d'oeuvres." He gestures behind himself, to a pilfered silver tray that's been balanced precariously between the fronds of a fern. It’s piled with a haphazard collection of delicate, tiny bites uniformly dusted with gold leaf.

"Where'd you get the tray?" Brad murmurs back.

" _Distractingly charming and compelling_ ," Kravitz says, mock-affronted, and pokes him in the ribs. "I just _asked_ , dear one."

There's half a heartbeat where Brad wavers. He’s still reluctant to shed the protection of his self-containment, especially when they're surrounded by strangers. But he glances at the tray again, and the rush of affection is enough to push him over. He tips Kravitz' chin up, smiles at the sudden widening of the reaper's eyes. Leans down and kisses him very gently, but very obviously, on the mouth.

Kravitz makes a small, shocked noise, eyes still wide as Brad pulls back. "I-"

"That was thoughtful," Brad tells him. "Thank you, sweetheart." He's genuinely grateful, but he also notes with interest -- and perhaps not a small amount of smugness -- how Kravitz straightens and his lips part slightly, eyes tracking Brad's face.

"Gross," Taako says out of the corner of his mouth, but his half-smile is obvious.

"You can have a kiss too if you like, pet," Brad says, low, and nearly laughs out loud at how Taako's ears give him away; swivelling alert and upright in an instant. "Does that sound good?"

"Yes," Taako says; Brad is pleased to see he's the one blushing this time. "Please."

Brad hums, selecting some sort of fruit and cheese on a skewer off the tray. "Listen to your friend's speech."

*

This is, Kravitz decides beatifically, a rollicking good party, particularly given that everyone else here is mortal. He's won three filthy sex acts off Taako, and even if Brad refused to participate in the game itself Kravitz suspects it won't take too many beseeching looks to.get him involved in the prizes. _And_ Kravitz has swanned up to enough of the clusters of the well-to-do only to have them fall immediately, awkwardly into a change of subject to know that the topic of "Taako and his dates" has been well and truly dissected by most everyone in the room. Likely while imagining the three of them shagging. It's very nice, Kravitz thinks, to be appreciated.

Even Brad has finally started to relax -- Kravitz credits himself and his collection of pilfered finger food with that, one is always more inclined to be stressed when one's _famished_ \-- and he's struck up a conversation with someone from the latest knot of moneyed strangers who've approached them. Something about investing, but possibly also gardening? It's dreadfully dull but Kravitz is darting the odd glance at Brad's face, enjoying the sight of him, eyes alight and animated.

It's a relief to see him like this after the earlier wild swings of mood, brought on by an unfortunate omission followed closely by what Kravitz suspects was a term of endearment not previously discussed. Kravitz is not a fool nor senseless; he has of course noticed the new tenderness between his partners, although he’s so far avoided asking either of them about it. Tonight, he caught the shift in Brad’s posture, and Taako’s heedless barreling into good intentions. He’s grateful, therefore, to have Brad pleasantly occupied with mundanities, and Taako distracted by gambling.

Kravitz and Taako are working the rest of the group, which mostly involves Taako allowing people be starstruck about being in his presence, and Kravitz capitalising on their stupefaction by wheedling donations out of them. It's working very well, and he makes a note that he should persuade Taako to come to more of these parties. Putting their skills to a good cause, and all that.

Not that he really knows much about the cause. Kravitz is not at all embarrassed by the fact that he spent most of Sloane's speech contemplating how he might entice both of his paramours into a dark corridor or side room somewhere, and how they could pleasurably spend twenty or so minutes once they got there. One particularly compelling image of Taako involved the dress rucked up around his hips, spangly earrings scattering drops of moonlight around the room as Brad fucked him against a wall. It's a wistful fantasy, he knows -- they'd never get away with mussing each other in this crowd -- but it's pleasant to think about, and much more his speed than building… roads? Libraries? Gymnasiums, probably?

That said, Kravitz knows he's a guest, and he's aware of his obligations as such. And so during an ebb in his part of the conversation he presses up on his toes, and steadies himself on Taako's shoulder as he scans the room for Sloane. He’ll just ask her to give him the summarised version of the speech, he reasons. Parting donors from their money will presumably be simpler once he has a basic understanding of what said money is _for_.

Kravitz likes Sloane. There's a quiet air of command about her that reminds him of home, and she wields it in an unselfconscious way that he respects a great deal. She laughs at his jokes and speaks with shocking frankness and can hold her liquor. She matched him drink for drink the one time he and Taako managed to drag she and Hurley to an unobtrusive, exclusive bar, so as far as Kravitz is concerned, she's a good sort.

It's a shame, he thinks, as he catches her eye and waves her over, that this party is so fancy. He could definitely do with a trashier atmosphere -- some sort of drink with an umbrella in it, or a glittery straw. He gets his fill of icy formality at court.

The sycophants melt away as Sloane approaches, presumably frightened off by the purposeful look on her face. Another thing Kravitz quite likes about her.

"Hello, madame," he says, and sketches her a little bow. "Our compliments to the event planner."

She is looking directly at Brad as Kravitz speaks to her, which is odd, but she turns to face Kravitz as he straightens. "I didn't think we'd see you," she says in her low rich voice. “It felt like wishful thinking to include you on the list.”

“I’d have been tempted to show up on my own, if I’m honest,” Kravitz says. “I bought this coat half a century ago and I’ve hardly had occasion to wear it.”

“You’d have been welcome at the last two fundraisers we’ve held since you’ve moved to Goldcliff,” she says.

Kravitz eyes Taako sidelong at that, but Taako only shrugs it off with affected carelessness. “Weird how the mail lady keeps losing all these invitations,” he says, shameless, “better take that into account when we leave our holiday tip, huh.”

“I’ll be sure to have them couriered in the future,” Sloane says smoothly. And then she fixes Brad with her attention again, the sort of gaze which pins. "I don't think we've been formally introduced,” she says. She extends a hand. "Sloane."

An arch of black eyebrows. "Brad," he says as he takes it. "A pleasure."

Sloane purses her lips. "You're looking very well.”

"I'm sorry, have we met previously?" Brad asks, polite but clearly at a loss.

"In passing.”

Kravitz has never actually seen Brad in his professional mode as a Bureau employee, and is now quite interested to watch as Brad hovers uncertainly at its edge. “The Landfall Gala?” Brad asks, hesitant. “I don’t remember your being on the list of confirmed guests...”

Sloane's mouth curls at the corners. “You were a regular at an old haunt of mine."

"Oh?"

"The Paladin," she says, each syllable crisp with relish.

There’s a long blank moment as Brad presumably hunts through his memory, and then his face goes rigid. "Ah."

Kravitz’s own job is one of instinct and intuition, and to borrow a crude phrase, he smells blood in the water. He and Taako exchange a look across Brad's chest, which confirms that Taako is equally bemused, although perhaps not quite so eager for dramatic revelations.

Sloane can't have missed the shift in mood, but she goes on with the same glossy pleasantness. “So, Hurley tells me you're the new beau,” she says to Brad. “Do you live here in the city?”

“No,” Brad manages, with what appears to be a heroic effort at affecting unconcern. “I'm in town most weekends.”

“How dedicated,” Sloane says, and Kravitz honestly cannot get a read on her sincerity. Then, to all of them, she says, “I have about a half an hour of this left in me before Hurley and I make a quiet exit. Unless you three have other plans, you should come along with us.”

“It’s not even eleven yet,” Taako says. “Kind of an early night for you.”

Sloane flashes a smirk as she begins to turn away. “Oh, I didn’t say anything about going home,” she tosses back over her shoulder, then slips into the kaleidoscope churn of the crowd.

From there, it’s a race to the first question. Taako wins with, “All right, my dude, spill.”

Brad has spent the evening on the cusp of orcish blushing, and now his face is at last a deep forest green. Kravitz has seen him flustered on occasion, caught moderately off guard by some impulse of Taako’s or Kravitz’s own ruthless flirtation. But the set of his features and the burning flush of his cheeks suggests an embarrassment far beyond guest list omissions or minor stumbles in etiquette.

“It’s nothing important,” Brad says, and thus cements Kravitz’s certainty of the reverse.

“Crime stuff?” Taako presses. “She used to be real big into doin’ crimes.”

“No.”

“I mean I wouldn’t give a shit, it’s not like I’m gonna turn you in.”

“I am aware of Sloane’s criminal history only through your own haphazard reports,” Brad says shortly.

“Did you shag her?” Kravitz asks, perhaps a touch too loudly, and Brad’s “ _No,_ ” snaps down over the last consonant.

“Kind of a weird name for a club,” Taako says, and mostly manages to keep it sounding playful. “I mean ‘Paladin,’ jeez, you two have some secret multiclassing past? Weekend dabbling in holy warfare?”

Brad does laugh a little at that, and some of the tension leaves his face as he kisses the top of Taako’s head. “Please trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to have this conversation in public,” he rumbles, almost too quiet to hear over the music and voices of the party around them.

“So you spent the first three months of our relationship whistling up silence spells like it’s going out of style, and then the one time I actually want you to-”

“All right.” Brad exhales a sharp sigh of frustration, takes Taako by the shoulder, and leans in very close to his ear.

In terms of ability alone, Kravitz _could_ have attuned his own hearing to eavesdrop on this confession. But morality and a sense of adventure both cow him into good behavior, and so he contents himself with watching Taako’s face.

The progression is evocative -- confusion, then shock, and then a round-eyed muddle of overwhelmed awe. “Gotcha,” Taako mutters vaguely. “So you...with her...?”

“No.”

“But she-”

“I had something of a reputation,” Brad says, with a hint of pride that Kravitz finds incredibly endearing even in his ignorance.

“Am I to be let in on this conspiracy,” Kravitz asks, cheerful, “or would you prefer I guess?”

“I’ll tell him,” Taako says, “he won’t understand how you put it.” Kravitz feels rather like he’s about to be given a present as Taako takes a turn at leaning close. He whispers warm against Kravitz’s ear, “The Paladin is a sex club where you hit people.”

“What are you telling him?” Brad asks, but Kravitz only barely hears the question. He is momentarily so overloaded with glee that he has to concentrate on keeping his face within normal party parameters. Also, resisting the urge to cackle.

"What you told me," Taako retorts. "But like, in normal people talk and not the nerd version of it."  
  
"Aren't we all being so _direct_ tonight," Kravitz says brightly, amused. "I hope you're aware you're on the hook for a recap, _sir_ . Perhaps a demonstration."  
  
"Perhaps later," Brad says firmly, though the deeper green of his blush has not receded even a little.  
  
"Yes, of course," Kravitz says; allows himself the smallest smirk and adds, voice low, "There's nothing like the drip-fed revelation of a lover's past debauchery to get one in the mood for something truly depraved."  
  
"Jesus," Taako mutters, his eartips starting to pinken.

Kravitz leans close to Taako, and looks Brad in the eyes as he murmurs, "Do you want to lay claim on participating in the reenactment, or will I?"  
  
Brad's jaw sets, and not even the colour on his cheeks detracts from the quiet authority of his voice when he says, “We’ll discuss this later."  
  
"Oh dear," Kravitz purrs. "Do you promise?"  
  
Brad holds his gaze for another moment, and then snorts. "You're incorrigible."  
  
"Corrigibility is dull," Kravitz agrees.  
  
"You _both_ suck," Taako says, voice a little too thin for the disdain he's pretending. "Shit, I need another drink."  
  
"Yes," Brad says, clearly relieved for the distraction. "Please. I'll go."  
  
"By all means," Kravitz says, grinning. "I'd love another wine, _sir_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RQT hopes everyone else is screeching with glee the same way I did when Goose told me the idea for Sloane.
> 
> Goose is still cackling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad asks some questions, and answers others. Kravitz does shots offscreen. Taako is profoundly embarrassed until curiosity gets the better of him.

Taako abandons all efforts to talk to anyone at this party he isn’t friends with or dating. The thought of twenty-something Brad swaggering around some seedy club has him wound up like nobody’s business, and he was already pretty fucking horny from the combo of nerves and formalwear. There’s no room left in his brain for making pleasant conversation with bankers.

And it’s not like he’s surprised by this new hunk of info, exactly? Brad’s always made such a stink about the “right” way to do things; he must've learned how to hit people properly from someone else.  _ With _ someone else. Old boyfriends, maybe? Maybe the owners of those other collars, a subject Taako’s been dodging for months and now can’t get out of his head. 

And Sloane’s also involved in this,  _ somehow _ ? Somewhere in that vagueness of leather and sex. God, where did all of this even happen? A club, but where? In what city? What sort of a building, filled with how many people? Who else was there to see whatever happened back then, whatever Brad did that has Sloane smirking at them across the courtyard.

Their game of sex gambling is swapped for gossip, and Kravitz spends the next half hour hounding Brad for the details of his horny backstory. Brad’s recovered enough by now that his face mostly stays its normal color, but his deflections aren’t as smooth as they normally would be. He’s retreated into variations on “I’ll tell you when we get home,” which Taako is secretly thankful for -- a guy can only take so much at once --  but Kravitz is pouting dramatically.

“I don’t even know as much as  _ Taako _ ,” Kravitz says now with languid annoyance, a wine glass dangling between two fingers. They’ve drifted over to a wrought iron bench near the fountain, and Kravitz's skin glows blue with the light from the water. “You seem to have told him all manner of juicy anecdotes from days past, and here I am, stranded in a desert of ignorance.”

“How difficult for you,” Brad says, clipped.

“He really didn’t tell me that much,” Taako mutters, and then regrets it as Kravitz leans in toward him.

“Was there some sort of apprenticeship?” Kravitz asks, not especially bothering to keep his voice down. “Were guilds involved?”

“I dunno, Krav, he’s a nerd about everything,” Taako mutters, “probably he went to like, weird sex community college.”

Brad sighs. “I’ll tell you when we get-”

“Heyyyyyyyy, you boys ready to go?” Hurley flops down next to Taako on the bench, an arm flung out around his bare shoulders. She’s obviously a little bit drunk, and in an excellent mood about it.

Taako chuckles and pats her on the back. “Where’s your girlfriend, champ?”

“Prolly out front waiting for us,” Hurley says. “C’mon, let’s blow this joint.”

“And by ‘joint’ you mean the charity function which you personally organized?” Brad asks, mild. 

“Yep!” Hurley says, and levers herself back onto her feet, dragging Taako up with her. She sets off toward the exit, her arm still around him, steering him through the crowd as Brad and Kravitz, presumably, follow them out.

The courtyard must have had some kind of warmth charm cast over it; it’s noticeably colder out on the steps of city hall. The long green carpet is still there, although the reporters and gawkers have dispersed. Only a handful of Militia are standing by the doors, and they all nod politely to Hurley when she waves at them with the hand that isn't hauling Taako around. 

He’d ask what the plan is, but he can see for his own damn self the minute they step outside: at the base of the stairs is a sleek black wagon, not quite racing grade but in the same mode. No horses, and all enclosed by glossy metal and tinted glass. 

The front passenger door swings open, and Sloane leans across from the driver's seat to grin at them. She's thrown a studded leather jacket on over her dress, and applied a harsher shade of crimson to her lips, and swept her hair back in a severe green-black ponytail that hangs down over one shoulder. “Get in, losers,” she says, her smile all teeth and mischief. 

Hurley slides into the front, and Kravitz darts forward to open the closest rear door with a flourish. “After you, my dear hearts,” he says, and Taako’s off-kilter enough that even this tossed-off bit of fluff twinges in his chest. He pecks Krav on the cheek before ducking in and sliding to the far end of the upholstered bench, careful of his trailing hem. He’s adjusting his skirt as Brad tucks in beside him, pressed close and warm in the narrow sportswagon, the whole length of his thigh snug against Taako’s, his head nearly touching the ceiling.

“I feel like dancing,” Sloane says. She watches them in the little mirror hung over the wagon’s front window. “How’s that sound?”

“Oh,  _ ideal _ ,” Kravitz drawls from the far side of Brad’s torso. “Provided the venue is loud and dark and sufficiently uncouth, I’ve rather had my fill of good behavior.”

“I know just the place,” Sloane says, and shifts the wagon’s arcane engine into gear.

As they pull away from the curb and knife into the flow of traffic, Taako slips an arm through Brad’s elbow, his hand splayed over the swell of a bicep under the smooth wool suit. Their heights are closer this way, and Taako can stretch and crane his neck to press a kiss to Brad’s throat, just under the corner of his jaw. 

“You gonna dance with me, big guy?” he murmurs.

Brad inhales sharply through his nose. “Perhaps,” he says, low. “I may prefer to watch the two of you. You’re very pretty together.”

“You’re pretty,” Taako says, stubborn but sincere, suddenly urgent. “Brad, you’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

“It’s the cufflinks, I’m sure,” Brad says, still very quiet, although a soft chuckle from Kravitz suggests he can hear just fine.

Taako nuzzles under the curve of Brad’s ear. Brad smells like himself, and shaving soap, and bergamot. “Do you like the dress?”

“I like you in it.”

“Mmmmm.” It's dark in the wagon, and the rumble of wheels on pavement masks the soft wet sounds of Taako's mouth as he nips at Brad's skin. “And out of it...?”

“We can have them drop us at home,” Brad rumbles. 

“No we can't,” Kravitz says, ruthless. “I was promised a night out and I plan to collect in full. You can't shortchange a bounty hunter.”

Taako leans across Brad's chest, their arms still hooked together. “Babe, I'm  _ horny _ though.”

Kravitz smirks and rolls his eyes. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” Brad mutters, and both Taako and Kravitz snort with laughter.

Hurley cranes her neck to peer at them from the passenger seat. “You behaving back there?” 

“Not even slightly!” Kravitz chirps, pleased and preening, and leans forward to hang off the back of Hurley's seat. "Where are we going?"

"It's called Racer," Sloane says, and manages to make that name sound cool even though it's definitively dorky. "Most people there are battlewagon-adjacent, so there's unlikely to be any overlapping attendees with the fundra- hold on." She yanks at a lever between the front seats and wrenches the wheel to the side. There's a screeching noise as the wagon turns, sharp and sudden. The force of the movement presses Taako up against Brad's side; he can see Kravitz' knuckles taut and pale as he tightens his grip on the back of Hurley's seat.

"Sorry," Sloane says, when their momentum rights itself. She doesn't sound sorry at all, and her eyes in the mirror are crinkled with amusement. "Sharp corner."

"You're going to get a ticket and I'm not going to talk anyone out of giving it to you," Hurley tells her.

"Could you show me how to do that?" Kravitz asks, delighted.

It descends into bickering, and Taako wriggles against Brad's side; leans up to his jaw, again. "How many of the fancy party attendees do you think imagined us fucking?" he murmurs.  

"Most of them,” Brad says, and Taako feels the words vibrating against his lips. He grins into Brad's neck.

"How many of them wanted to be you, do you think?" Taako asks. Nips a little harder than he should. 

Brad's hand slides down his thigh to rest at his knee. “Behave,” Brad says, low. Then he leans forward to join the conversation, which by now is about basic battlewagon driving skills.

Taako should have expected this - some kind of tease at least - but he's wound so tightly that his usual faculties have deserted him, and he's left trying to contain the urge to demand Kravitz portal them back to the bedroom  _ immediately _ .

Not that he has time to stew in it; they've barely gone another two minutes when Sloane jerks the wagon around again ("You said you'd stop _ drifting into parking spaces _ ," comes the protest from Hurley) and they come to a halt.

"This is it," Sloane says. They're parked off the main road on a nondescript street, dim cafes and shopfronts punctuated with the occasional glow of dim lights signalling a bar, laughter from passing clusters of people and the thud of warring basslines. Sloahe jerks her head at an unremarkable door with dim red light spilling out around the edges of the frame. "Ready?"

Kravitz already has the door open, bounding out onto the street. Brad slides over towards him after one last kneading caress of Taako's leg, which leaves Taako little choice but to follow, mulish.

They gather around Sloane as she does something roguey Taako can't quite follow with the door, which swings open to reveal a gnome with an eyepatch, sitting on a stool at the top of a narrow flight of stairs. The Gnome nods at Sloane and Hurley, then leans to the side to take in Brad, Taako and Kravitz behind them, and say, "Quite an entourage tonight."

"Showing our friends a good time," Hurley says. Taako isn't sure, but it sounds like she's probably winking.

They're waved through and down, the red light of the entrance giving way to dimmer strip lights tracking the stairs underground.

"How long has this been here?" Taako asks. "You didn't take us here last time."

Sloane turns and grins at him, the lighting from below casting weird shadows on her face. "Wagon racing's gone legit. Everyone has sponsors now."

"A bunch of these places have cropped up," Hurley agrees. "This one's the best. No-one'll be cringy and follow you around." They're at the bottom of the stairs by now, and they round the corner into - well. Taako's been to enough nightclubs in his time to know they all look the same with the lights on -- dingy -- but the place isn't bad. He can't vouch for the music, but there's cozy-looking booth seating around the edges of the room, the bar off to the left is backlit and mirrored and fully stocked, the scattered crowd are well-dressed, and the dancefloor is enthusiastic, so-

"Nice," Taako says. "We got a game plan?"

"A booth, I think," Sloane suggests, and points at the corner to their right.

"And a round?" Kravitz adds. "We're on the hook, given our invitations to a delightful party for naught but a charm offensive, I'd say."

"You sure are," Hurley says, cheerfully, as they make their way around the edge of the floor. There's a flurry as coats and jackets are discarded, bags flung carelessly into corners; Brad drapes his suit jacket over the edge of the booth. Taako watches out of the corner of his eye as Brad carefully rolls his shirtsleeves up above the elbows.

"Your boyfriend's got nice arms," Hurley murmurs to him; Taako starts, and turns to say something defensive and obvious, but she's grinning at him and she's  _ right _ , of course.

"Taako knows how to pick 'em," he says, instead, as Kravitz slides his arms around Taako's middle. "C'mon, let's go buy drinks."

*

There's a moment after the other three leave where Brad and Sloane just stare at each other, waiting. It's bizarre to feel his own tactic used against him -- Taako is too antsy and Kravitz too blithe to ever bother returning his pointed silences with their own. He finds himself quite enjoying it, a battle of matched strategies he's not encountered for some time.

He decides to get on the front foot, and slides to sit in the booth. “I haven’t been to the Paladin in five years,” he says as she seats herself across from him. “It’s flattering to be remembered.”

Sloane rolls her eyes and snorts. “Bradson, _ everyone _ remembers you.”

“You strike me as the memorable sort, yourself, and yet you have me at a disadvantage.”

“I’m a little younger than you,” she says. “I was new to the scene, baby domme on the prowl, no idea what I was doing.” She gestures to her face. “Masked, generally.”

“A raven, I assume.” He thinks for a moment, sorting through dusty bits of memory.  “Ah. Yes. Whips, mostly.”

“My technique was absolute shit back then.”

“I wasn’t going to say.” He smiles a little. “I don’t suppose you have much space in your life for that sort of thing anymore. What with the foundation and all.”

Sloane chuckles. “I’ve gone legit, but I haven’t  _ died _ . We just run in smaller circles these days. Private parties. Invite-only.” 

“We?”

“Hurley has an adventurous spirit.” Sloane leans in across the table. “How about your little entourage, mm? What’s Brad the Motivator up to with his new beaus?”

Brad straightens on his seat. “Nothing of interest, I’m sure,” he says. And then, before she can get out an argument, he adds, “And nothing I’ll discuss without their permission.” 

Sloane pouts. “Spoil sport.”

Brad steeples his fingers and offers a professional smile. "Your speech was very interesting." 

He can see her consider whether to call him out on the subject change. After a moment, though, she sighs and says, "It was as interesting as I could make it given how intent the project board has been on stonewalling me," she says, seating herself opposite him. "But seriously, how did  _ that _ -" and she nods towards Taako and Kravitz, both leaning over the bar, "-happen?"

"A question for a question," Brad counters, and leans back against the upholstery. Sloane gives him a sardonic look. "I mean it, I'm genuinely invested. Here, I'll go first - I worked with Taako at the Bureau. We developed an arrangement. It was an amusing distraction, both of us behaved badly, things ended. And now-" he shrugs. "They've started again. What do you mean the project board is stonewalling you?"

Sloane purses her lips. "Fine, but we're coming back to this. I mean they haven't given us anything concrete yet, though they've been apparently working on a development plan for weeks. They're all very capable people, so this shouldn't be such a hassle." For all the careful posturing they're both doing, she sounds genuinely frustrated. "Did Taako… seek you out  _ specifically?  _ For–"

"No," Brad says, maybe too quickly. "It was a bit of a game on my part - pushing limits. I'm afraid I wasn't very responsible." He shrugs. "I'd been away from the scene for a while. And he tried very hard to manoeuvre me into a position where he could  _ win, _ which wasn't really ever on the cards. What's your background in this sort of project?"

"Limited," Sloane says, primly. "I know a great deal about working  _ around _ these sorts of structures, not within them. It's the criminal past, you see. What about Kravitz?"

"I met him separately at a party," Brad says, and even as the words are leaving his mouth he knows how ridiculous it sounds. "We...connected."

Sloane looks intrigued. "What kind of party?"

"A housewarming," Brad says. "And yes, Taako was there."

Intrigue turns to captivation. " _ How _ did you–"

"My turn," Brad says smoothly, as much to give himself time to figure out the least humiliating way of describing how things had gone as as to keep the questions alternating. "Who's on your board now?"

"Local developers, politicians, some businesspeople who fancy themselves philanthropists. Eight of them in total." Sloane's brow creases, faintly. "All highly recommended."

"Are you personally connected to any of them?"

"Criminal past," Sloane says, dryly. "And you know what my next question is."

"Kravitz assessed me as an option for a potential hookup," Brad says, grateful for the low lighting of the bar, and the fact that a degree of his embarrassment has already been burned out of him tonight. "Taako recognised me later from his description. That's how things started again."

Sloane has her chin rested on her hand, elbow propped on the table. "How  _ things _ started again."

"Yes," Brad says, meaningfully. "What sort of timeframes are you working with?"

It's very strange, hearing a dryad scoff. "We've got as long as we want, in some ways - everyone is desperate for this thing to go well - but I'd say we have six months from now to break some sort of ground, somewhere in the dev zone, or there'll be uneasiness from our investors." She narrows her eyes at him. "You've got a  _ normal _ job, how on  _ earth _ do you manage to balance that with Taako and Kravitz?"

"With difficulty," Brad says, and half-smiles. "It's not- it isn't straightforward, but Kravitz has worked his schedule around the weekends, and it seems to be operating well."

Sloane raises her eyebrows and says, "You must be very convincing. Well, I suppose I knew that already."

"Yes," Brad says, determinedly ignoring the sly implication. "What's the rest of your governance structure?" 

Sloane relents, at this point, and starts in on an incredibly frank description of the project's history, the personalities on the board, and her own involvement. The others arrive back at the booth with a round, and it takes them about fifteen seconds to dismiss Brad and Sloane's conversation as far too serious and boring for all the fun they're having, and then disappear back to the dance floor.

For a while, Brad just listens; nods along when he's clearly expected to do so, makes commiserating facial expressions over the rim of his glass, interjects with small questions. And then he finds himself explaining how Landfall had worked, and the extra level of management he'd provided between the project team and Lucretia, and offers up a few of his hard-won methods for wrangling personalities to help with the cast of characters on Sloane's board. It's pleasant to be able to draw on his experience outside of his job, even if they're having the conversation in a dimly lit club. 

Taako finally wanders back over to them, hair plastered to his temples, his chest and collarbones gleaming with sweat. "Are you both  _ still _ talking nerd shit? This is meant to be  _ fun _ , Bradson."

"Duty calls," Brad says to Sloane. “Perhaps later we can-”

"Yes," she says, and digs a Stone out of the pocket of her coat, draped over the chair. “Give me your attunement."

“It does sound like this Lockmore person is your issue,” Brad says, fishing out his own Stone.  “if you can neutralise whatever effect he's got on the board, you'll find things picking up, I think."

"Guess what other effects are getting neutralised right about now," Taako says. "C'mon, big guy, I'm  _ dying _ , I wanna  _ dance _ ." Brad and Sloane tap their stones together, and Taako makes an exaggerated sighing noise. " _ Now _ can we grind?"

“Don’t delay on my account,” Sloane says, and smirks over the table at Brad as he stands.

“Keep me updated,” Brad says to her, his arm around Taako’s waist. 

She tosses off a playful salute. “You couldn’t stop me.”

*

Taako is finally,  _ finally _ at ease. The night’s been a weird wild ride, and took a few turns he’s not so thrilled about,  _ but _ ! He went out in public with his  _ boyfriends _ (shit,  _ plural _ ), they all looked hot as hell, they raised money for children’s playgrounds or whatever,  _ and _ once he met his unfathomable nerd quota Brad finally got his ass out onto the dance floor. 

If he’s honest, Taako had kind of assumed Brad would dance the way he talks -- good presence, sexy in its own way, but kind of stiff and way too fucking formal. Instead, it’s a lot closer to the way he has sex. No one really “leads” at a club like this, but Taako feels himself following Brad’s cues, the placement of his hands and the angle of his body, the rhythm of how he moves. Brad’s fingers at the back of his neck, Brad’s hips pressed close to own, guiding him and holding him close. It’s devastatingly hot and worse, Taako’s pretty sure Brad’s not really even trying tonight, he’s just  _ like  _ this. And it’s great. It’s  _ great _ , and Taako wonders why he’s avoided this; why he doesn’t do this all the goddamn time.

It’s not like he hasn’t had good nights with Brad and Kravitz before, but there’s something about doing it with other people - hanging out in a group where all of this is just accepted and normal - that leaves a lightness in his chest. Eventually Taako moves on to Kravitz, and spends as long as he can bear gyrating as gratuitously as possible against Krav’s body - staring Brad deliberately in the face - before the practical realities of his post-Wonderland body catch up with him and he has to beg off. He peels away from the group and crosses back to their booth, sliding into the corner where he can see everyone best.

It doesn't take long before Sloane appears with two drinks in her hands. She plunks them down on the table hard enough for them to splash, shimmies into the booth across from him, then leans in on her elbows, her chin resting on her knit-together fingers. She looks square at Taako with the same curious intensity she’d fixed on Brad at City Hall, moments before destroying him. “Tired?” she asks, with the drawn-out vowels of the pleasantly tipsy.

“Hah, yeah, a little,” Taako says, although he’s already wondering where the trap will be. “Krav goes pretty hard, like...just physically speaking, I think he could do this for....ever?”

She picks up one of the glasses and sips from it, watching him over the rim. “You have mentioned his impressive stamina.”

“Listen, the man doesn’t do things by halves.”

“Neither do you, apparently.” Ah. Yep, there it is. “So you’re dating both of them?”

At least the shock of this particular conversation’s worn off. “Yeah, seems like.”

“And they’re...” Sloane tilts her head to one side. “Are they also dating each other, or is that part just sex?”

Taako can feel his ears pinkening again. “Yeah, no, we’re all...” He gestures, a vague whirl of his hand. “Kind of a package deal, I guess.”

Sloane arches her brows. “For an elf who talks big game about being lazy, you’ve taken a sharp turn into relationship hard mode.”

“It’s not...” He shakes his head. “They’re both good guys, it’s fine.”

“Triads are tricky.”

“We’re good,” Taako says. He looks down at the drink she’s brought him, and smiles a little. “Yeah, we’re...we’re really good.”

“I like Brad,” she says. “He’s not really what I’d have expected, but I like him.”

Taako looks out at the dance floor. Kravitz has hauled Brad into the center, and is winding slinkily around Brad’s body as the two of them sway to the music. Brad’s mouth moves with a smirking comment, and Kravitz laughs and pulls him down for a kiss.

“He’s great,” Taako says, quiet. He sips his drink, which tastes like it’s probably a whiskey sour. “I dunno. I guess I’m mostly just trying not to fuck things up too bad.”

“You had better not,” Sloane says.

Taako laughs, startled. “Well shit, fam, tell me what you really think.”

Sloane points at Taako’s chest. “That orc is one in a million,” she says. “You hold onto him with both hands.”

Taako doesn’t really disagree with her, but he can feel his hackles raising all the same. “It’s not like he’s the only nice guy in the world,” he says. “Me and Krav were fine before. We’ll be fine if this doesn’t work out.” The words feel awful as soon as they’re out of his mouth, and he takes another drink to cover the wince.

Sloane lays her hands flat on the tabletop, then waits in heavy silence until he meets her eyes. "Taako, I want to make sure you understand something," she says. "Brad is an incredibly good dom."

Taako’s ears flatten back against his head. "I know,” he mutters. No point pretending he doesn’t understand, that’ll just encourage her.

"I don't think you do," Sloane says, and Taako can’t think of a time he’s seen her this intense without a Grand Relic being involved. "People would have paid him. People  _ offered  _ to pay him."

His cheeks prickle with heat. "I don't..." He fidgets with the glass in his hands. "Listen, this ain’t really a topic I'm super keen to chit chat about, so-"

"Obviously.” Sloane dips her head to catch his gaze again. "You  _ are _ his sub, aren't you?"

Taako doesn’t feel pinned by that so much as skewered straight through. No one has said these words out loud to him other than Brad, and that was most of a year ago, and his reaction back then had been to straight-up forbid them from conversation. “Uh...”

“Like you aren’t just bottoming for him, he’s your  _ dom _ , right?”

Taako barks a horrified laugh. "Jesus  _ Christ _ , Sloane!"

“That’s a yes, then.” She nods, satisfied. "Kravitz also?" 

“Listen...”

"How's the dynamic work, there?” She taps her chin with a long red nail. “You've always struck me as a switch but-"

"Sloane, what the  _ fuck?” _ Taako groans and folds his hands over his head. “Oh my god, why do you even wanna talk about this like am I missing something here? Did I not get the memo?”

Sloane frowns and leans on the back of one hand. “Why  _ don't _ you want to talk about it?”

Taako laughs again, a little strangled. “Uhhhhhhhhhh it's fucking  _ private _ ?”

Sloane rolls her eyes and snorts. “Taako, the last time I saw you and Kravitz you told me a story about having sex in the back room of an antique store.”

“I...!” Taako sits there with his mouth open for several seconds, then sighs, defeated. “Shit.”

“Yep.”

Taako pushes a hand back through his hair, downs the rest of his glass, and sets it back on the table with a heavy  _ thunk  _ of resignation. “Yeah, fine, we ah. We do the....what you’re talking about.”

Sloane frowns and swirls her drink. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” 

Taako blows out a sigh. “You know, I used to think this was just Brad’s thing, but apparently there’s a whole class of assholes who like to grill the people they  _ supposedly care about _ for every humiliating detail of their pervert business.”

“I don’t understand what could possibly be humiliating about this conversation,” she says, annoyed and maybe offended. “I met your boyfriend in a _dungeon_ , I’m not going to judge you.” She taps the table with a nail. “I am _inside_ the circle.”

She’s scowling at him with what seems to be genuinely confused frustration, and if he’s honest, Taako can’t really blame her. He doesn’t see much of Sloane and Hurley these days, but they’re still good friends. And she’s right that he’s never held back about this kind of thing before. She’s never given him any reason to be embarrassed about what he does in bed, or who he does it with.

Another, heavier sigh. “All right, fine. Yeah, we...I...” He swallows. “I’m his...I’m Brad’s....”  _ God, Taako, just spit it out you coward. _ “I’m a sub. I’m Brad’s sub.” 

She smiles. “Good.”

“And Krav. I think.” His heartbeat is going much too fast. He’s an elf who runs his mouth off all the damn time about all kids of bullshit, but he has no idea how to talk about this. “I maybe don’t understand how the...you know, the terms. Work.”

“They’re pretty straightforward.”

“Yeah to  _ you _ , maybe.” 

“Fair enough.” She gestures for him to continue.

A deep steadying breath, then, “Okay so like...like with Brad, I’m...” Fuck, is he really gonna say this? Is he really gonna say this out  _ loud _ with his  _ mouth _ to his  _ friend _ ? “Listen, I’m  _ his _ , right?”

“Right,” Sloane agrees. 

“And Krav...” Taako drums the table with nervous fingers. How to even put this? “Like they do some of the same kind of shit together, but it’s not the same thing. And not just the romantic stuff, you know? Like even when it’s just sex, it’s like...Like usually Brad kind of runs things, but sometimes I’ll, ah. Push Krav around a little.”

“Sure.”

“So when it’s Krav and me, we’re just messing around. It’s fun, it’s hot, that’s kinda it. And Krav’s all about having Brad play the big bad orc, I mean who wouldn’t be, right? But, ah...but me and Brad, it’s just...” A shaky breath of a laugh. “It’s a  _ lot _ .” He shoves his hand back through his hair. “Does any of this make sense?”

“You’re a treasured object that Brad owns and takes care of,” Sloane says, matter-of-fact.

Taako’s been doing all right up until this point, but hearing that said so plainly makes him want to disappear through the floor, but also, makes him so brain-meltingly horny it’s hard to sit still. “Yeah, I guess,” he mutters, hoarse, and wishes he had another drink.

Sloane sips from her own glass, thoughtful. “Is Kravitz all right with your belonging to someone else?”

“I...think so?”

“Have you talked about it?”

Taako rubs the back of his neck. “....I mean, he’s  _ been  _ there-”

“You should probably ask him at some point,” Sloane says, stern but not unkind. “Avoid trouble down the line.”

“Hah. Maybe, yeah.”

Sloane leans in closer, her grin gone crooked again. "So has Bradson flogged you? I’m friendly with an old ex of his, I've heard he's  _ devastating _ ."

" _ Christ! _ "

“Well?”

“Did he put you up this?”

She shrugs. “He wouldn't tell me anything good, I’m just being nosey.”

“The honesty is appreciated.”

“So?”

Taako scowls at her, his lips pressed together as he considers whether to bail. Then he sighs and says, “All right whatever, yeah, we do that sometimes and it’s fucking great. He spends like an hour working me up and I come so hard I think I’m gonna black out, is that what you wanted to know? You happy?”

“Delighted,” she says. “What a tragedy that would have been, if he'd lost the knack."

“Great. Fine.” Taako reaches over to pluck the half-empty glass from Sloane’s hand and knocks the rest of it back in one swallow. "So you know, since we’re apparently gonna lean way the hell into this nightmare of a conversation, here’s a question for the expert panel.”

“Shoot.”

“Is that normal? You keep saying he’s such hot shit, but what’s that mean? Like how hard is it to hit someone for sex reasons specifically?"

Sloan looks thoughtful for a moment, and stacks their glasses with a soft clink. "Most doms worth their salt can hit a mark, but the technical skill is just one part of it. Bradson is exceptionally skilled, but I think it’s more a matter of presence than anything. How he commands the room." She smirks. "And the man."

“So you’ve seen him. Like in person.”

"His partner at the time preferred to be whipped in public."

If he was a smarter elf, or sober one, he’d probably abandon ship right around now. But he’s tipsy, and horny, and honestly kind of curious. Instead of blurting an excuse to ditch, he rubs at a sticky spot on the table to give his hands something to do, and asks, "So at this Paladin place, you what...stood there?” Taako runs his thumbnail along a groove in the wood. “Watched him?"

"Have you not been to a play party?" Sloane asks. He must answer with a blank look, because she chuckles and says, “Wow, you really haven’t talked to him about any of this, have you?”

“Fuck off.”

“Ask him about it sometime,” she says. “They’re not for everyone but it might be worth trying out for an evening, just to see how you feel.” She taps the empty glasses, a considering  _ tink tink tink _ . “Maybe disguised.”

Taako snorts. “Yeah, that’s not a headline I especially want my buddies to see at the grocery checkout.”

“Celebrity Chef Served Up at Seedy Sex Banquet?”

“You came up with that way too quickly.”

“I like to read the tabloids.” 

Taako groans, but he can’t help smiling. “All right well, you’ve raked me over the fucking coals,” he drawls. “So what about you, Birdie?”

She widens her eyes and lays a hand on her chest in an unconvincing pantomime of innocence. “What about me?”

“You and Hurls,” Taako says. “You ah. You know.” He gestures throwing a whip, and she laughs.

“Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” she says, coy. He opens his mouth to yell at her but she laughs and waves it off and says, “I’m fucking with you, calm down. Yes, we ah...” It’s her turn to look out at the dance floor, now, where Hurley is laughing and jumping around with a pair of dwarves in hotpants. “We have a good time.”

“And what kind of a good time is that, exactly?”

“Well. She’s the one who calls the shots, for one. Which is new, but very nice. Turns out I’m more flexible about some things than I used to think I’d be.” Sloane shrugs as if they’re discussing her car instead of her sex life, which to be fair is typical. “This way I get to whip a beautiful woman until she’s crying from how badly she wants me to fuck her, only she’s the one who tells me to do it.” Sloane grins, lopsided. “She gives  _ very _ comprehensive instructions.”

Taako blows out a long, admiring whistle. “Damn.”

“Yyyyyyyyep.”

“Huh.” A flash of memory, then -- Brad underneath him in the bedroom, Brad’s face seen in a mirror. Taako swallows. “And you’re doing this like. In your living room, or...?”

“Sometimes.” 

“Other times?”

Sloane narrows her eyes. “Taako, are you looking for gossip or recommendations?”

Now it’s his turn to play at innocence. “Can’t a guy just ask his dear old friend a question about where she likes to hook up with his other dear old friend?”

“He can ask,” Sloane says. “But if he shows up at a lesbian leather club he may feel a little out of place.”

“Mmm. True.” 

“So if he’s interested in information for his own use,” she goes on with a smirk, “he should probably be asking his dom and not his dear old friend, a lesbian.”

Taako’s not sure why it’s that, of everything, that sets his ears burning again. “Listen, Sloane, I just... fuck, I don’t know how any of this works. Like at all.”

“So ask Brad.”

“I will,” he says, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s lying. “But how about you tell me anyway.”

She considers this for a long moment, her lips pursed. “All right,” she says. “But first, you’re buying me another drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope y'alls yelling has intensified (RQT's certainly did).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako updates his vocabulary. Brad receives an interesting offer. Kravitz gets to the point.

“It’s impossible to get Taako to go to karaoke. Seriously, don’t even try,” Hurley says, resigned. “Although I guess, in his defense, it’s probably pretty frustrating.”

“How so?” Brad asks. They’ve taken a break from the dance floor and are sitting around one corner of the bar, Kravitz swirling a tumbler of whiskey while Brad and Hurley nurse pints of dark ale.

“The heart of karaoke, as I understand it, is familiarity and nostalgia,” Kravitz says. “Taako has spent the majority of his life in other worlds with their own particular musical histories. Very few of those songs exist here, and those that do are often not quite right, to his ear.”

“We managed to drag him out one time, and he kept singing the wrong lyrics for the chorus of ‘Thong Song.’” Hurley laughs. “Sorry, he was mad that  _ we _ have the wrong lyrics for ‘Thong Song.’”

“It’s apparently of some sentimental value,” Kravitz says. “I keep asking him to just write the proper versions of things down, or hum the tune if it’s something wholly new, but!” A long sigh and a swallow of whiskey. “Well, you know how he is.”

“I’m familiar, yes,” Brad says, dry.

Hurley laughs. “Believe it or not, he’s way better than he used to be. All that missing memory stuff kinda messed him up. I don’t think he really knew how to handle it, other than. You know.” She gestures with her hands, miming a pair of doors shutting in front of her face. “I thought maybe I just didn’t know him well enough. But Krav tells me Taako was just as weird with him sometimes, and...” She smiles at Krav. “You two were so tight so fast, and he still didn’t tell you all kinds of things.”

“No, he didn’t,” Kravitz says. Then he catches Brad’s eye across the bartop and raises one brow.

“Actually,” Brad says, “Taako and I have more, ah...history together. Than you might expect.”

“Oh yeah?” Hurley asks, interested.

Brad is trying to think of how to begin explaining this when Kravitz sets down his own drink and says, “Brad and Taako have been together for longer than Taako and I.”

“Huh!”

Brad fidgets with his glass. “Well, that isn’t strictly-”

“It absolutely is,” Kravitz says, cheerful. “They were on a bit of a break when Taako and I began seeing each other, but as you can see, we sorted it all out in the end.” He smiles at Brad, then leans in to softly kiss his mouth. “Haven’t we, dear one?”

“Ooooooooooooooooo boy, getting  _ hot _ in here,” Hurley crows as Kravitz straightens again.

Brad reaches out to brush his thumb along the back of Kravitz’s hand, which rests on the bartop between them. A little embarrassed, maybe, but mostly grateful. “It has been an interesting year,” he says.

And then he feels a hand on his own back, which slides down along his spine to tuck around his waist, splay over his belly, and grab a shameless handful of the softness there. “Hey, big guy,” Taako murmurs, hot and close to Brad’s ear. “Wanna dance?”

Brad turns his head for a quick kiss, but Taako seizes his chance for something deeper, his arms circling Brad’s torso and holding him close, his tongue in Brad’s mouth and then Brad’s lip between his teeth. He tastes of whiskey and his hands are very warm. “We should dance,” he says, low and rough.

Shining locks of hair have come loose from Taako’s updo and fallen around his face. Brad tucks the worst of it behind an ear, and murmurs, “Perhaps we should go home.”

“Not yet,” Taako says. And then his grip has shifted to Brad’s elbow, and Brad allows himself to be hustled out into the crowd again with one last beseeching look cast back over his shoulder. 

Kravitz offers a jaunty wave, and Hurley salutes him with a raised glass.

Taako is in his evening gown and Brad in his shirt and tie, and probably they’re something of a spectacle like this, Taako’s body tucked up close to his, Brad’s hands on the bare skin of Taako’s back. Dressed for ballroom dancing and, instead, grinding against each other. Not all that different from what the three of them have been doing all night, in various combinations, only now it isn’t quite so playful. Now, when Taako’s hands wander over his ass, they curl all the way down under the curve of it. Now, the careful arrangement that kept the front of Taako’s dress smooth seems to have come undone, and the hot swell of his cock is obvious against Brad’s thigh.

The music is loud enough to make talking difficult, a problem which Taako answers by dragging Brad’s head down closer to his, both arms around Brad’s neck. “I’m drunk,” Taako says.

Brad chuckles. “Yes, I noticed.”

“Hey, baby, c’mere,” Taako says, and pulls him even closer, Taako up on his toes and Brad’s body curled around him. “I gotta tell you something,” Taako murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

Brad nuzzles at his cheek. “Oh?”

“It’s a secret.”

“I won’t tell.”

Taako nips at Brad’s jaw, and sighs hot against his skin, and says, with relish, “I’m your  _ sub _ .”

It takes Brad a moment to process this, and then he’s certain he must have misheard. He’s trying to sort out what Taako must have actually said, what non-impossible thing has come out of his mouth, when Taako laughs against his neck and says, “You like that, big guy?”

Brad bows his head lower and draws a breath that shudders at the edges. “Taako...”

“I’m the most famous elf in the fucking world and I’m yours,” Taako murmurs, his hands wandering up Brad’s flanks, his lips tickling Brad’s skin. “I’m your sub, baby, you  _ own _ me.”

This night has been long and wonderful and strange and hard, and Brad does not have it in him to answer this as he’d like to. There’s no space for him to regroup, no chance to build a stern facade, when Taako is saying all of this as he writhes deliciously in Brad’s hands, beautiful and terrifying. “This is a conversation for later, I think,” Brad manages at last.

Taako chuckles. “I thought you liked doing things in public.”

“Later,” Brad says again, and mercifully Taako only laughs and kisses his mouth.

The music until this point has been the sort of driving, bass-heavy soundtrack one expects at a nightclub, and Brad has paid it little mind aside from letting it dictate the rhythm with which he moves against his partners. But here, as Taako’s busy hands untuck his shirt and push up under it, palms against his bare stomach, the pulsing thud fades out and is replaced by something lighter -- an effervescent confection which Brad recognizes at once.

A moment later, Hurley comes bounding over with Sloane and Kravitz dragged along behind her, laughing as she dances with exaggerated seriousness to the opening measures.

Taako twists around to call out, “Hurls, did you request this you  _ dork _ ?”

“ _ Yes!” _ she crows.

“Abuse of power!” Taako barks back, although he’s laughing as he does it. 

“Absolutely!”

Sloane and Hurley are both very good dancers, but now abandon anything like grace and opt instead to jump around each other and sing very loudly along with the lyrics. Kravitz glides over to Brad and Taako long enough to touch each of their shoulders, and smile, and then he’s off to rejoin the women again. He quickly gets the hang of their routine, and the sight of this elegant man in his fine suit dancing like a teenager sets both Sloane and Hurley laughing.  

Taako’s hands are still up under Brad’s shirt, and though the tone of the music has drastically changed, he holds Brad just as close. “Whoooooooops!” he giggles, and shoves his face into the hollow of Brad’s chest. “I shouldn’t ah...” More, harder laughter. “I super beefed it my guy, I shouldn’t ah taken my underwear off I guess!”

Brad presses his nose to Taako’s hair, and smiles. “Likely not.”

“Brad, you gotta be my boner shield!” 

“We could go home,” Brad offers, low.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmnah, not yet.” Taako hops up to kiss Brad’s mouth, a light quick peck that couldn’t be more different from a few minutes before. “More dance,” he says, and nods, and steps back just far enough to move in something like the bounding, exaggerated style of the others.

Brad remembers this song. It was popular at the gay bars he hung around in college, where he’d dance with his friends from school while they worked up the nerve to talk to the older men they were all lusting after. He has this record at home, although he hasn’t listened to it in years. A harmless pop album, catchy and uncomplicated. 

Repetitive, too, in the way such songs often are. And so by the end of it Taako is also singing along with the chorus, the movements of his mouth exaggerated and playful, his voice just audible over the recording. His eyes on Brad’s face, smiling as he sings, “ _ I wanna dance with somebody, with somebody who loves me! _ ” 

For the first time in years, more than he’d like to think about, Brad is with a man whom he loves, and who loves him, and tonight they’re out in the world together, and happy, and alive. And now Brad is listening to a pop song as that love swells in his chest, genuinely moved by the simplest possible sentiment, and he has no idea what to do except take Taako by the shoulders, and bend down, and kiss him, and say, too roughly, “Let's go home.”

“Bradson!”

He looks past Taako’s shoulder. Sloane has swept over toward them, grinning wide and mischievous. And over the final refrains of the chorus she says, eager, “You should come work for us!”

This startles a laugh out of Brad. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Quit the Bureau, come work for Goldcliff! We need a project director! You’d be great!” 

Brad is no longer dancing. He opens his mouth; closes it again. Says, stupidly, “Goldcliff?”

“I’ll text you the details later,” she says, “but I’m serious, you asked a lot of smart questions, you already know some of our contractors, you’re good at handling big personalities.” She throws a light, affectionate punch to his shoulder. “And hey, no more weekend commute, right?”

“I...” Brad turns to Taako, who's flushed from drink and dancing and watching him with a slightly puzzled smile; to Kravitz, who whirls gracefully back over toward him, bumps the sides of their hips together, and asks, “Did she tell you? Wonderful idea, isn’t it?”

“We’re going home,” Brad says. 

“Pardon?”

“Now,” Brad says. Abrupt not with anger, but with the sudden realization that he has hit a wall. “We’re going home right now.” He turns to Sloane and Hurley. “Thank you so much for your hospitality this evening, it was wonderful to meet you both, I hope we see each other again soon.” Then back to Kravitz. “Parking lot? Less crowded.”

“Of course,” Kravitz says. And after he and Taako say their goodbyes -- Kravitz prim and projecting unconcern, Taako too drunk and happy to mind the details -- Brad collects his coat from their booth, walks as quickly as he can to the graveled lot in front of the club, finds an open space between the wagons, and waits for Kravitz to open an escape hatch.

*

It’s a sign of how horny he is, and how insulated by fuzzy-edged happiness, that the cold of the weird, in-between place of Kravitz’ portal does absolutely fuck-all to Taako’s boner. They've been deposited in the doorway - a minimal concession to Brad's desire to use actual entryways rather than skipping straight to the bedroom - and Taako has no intention of waiting any longer.

"Are you gonna do it," he says instead, sliding his hands around Brad's neck, pressing up against Brad’s thigh. He can't wrap himself around Brad's legs the way he'd like to, not dressed like this, but he brings the lengths of their bodies as close as he can manage. "You gonna fuck me in this dress, big guy? Gonna wreck it?" He drags the heel of his hand down Brad's chest, tugs at the shirt where it's tucked into his trousers. "I don't even care, tear it off me if you want."

Brad says nothing; grasps Taako's face in his hands, cradling his cheeks, and tugs him up onto his toes. He mouths carefully, devastatingly, at Taako's jaw - drags teeth up to his earlobe and laves his tongue up to the point. Taako hears himself whine, strangled and thin, and flings out a hand behind himself. "Krav- get here, I want-"

Kravitz is there in an instant, grabbing at Taako's hips and pressing kisses against the knobs of his spine; with Brad's warm breath and hands on his face, being pulled onto his toes and pressed close between Brad, large and solid, and Kravitz' clever hands and soft chuckle, Taako feels sorta like he's drowning. He's warm and a little drunk and caught in the middle of two people, two people he  _ loves _ . Two very different people who both love  _ him, _ even when he's spiky and difficult and terrible at scheduling. 

A wave of feeling threatens to overwhelm him for a moment. "W-wait," he stammers, and Brad pulls back to look at him, thumbing at his jaw, expression concerned. "I'm okay just- give me a second-"

Taako presses his face into Brad's shirt and slows his breathing to match the movement of Brad's chest. Kravitz' hands slow, too, into long strokes up and down the length of his back, and he lets himself be gentled into a steadier place; intensity recedes, and thrumming heat rushes in in its place. Taako feels Brad bend down over his shoulder, followed by the soft sound of kissing right next to his ear, and moans out a curse into the shirt.

"This is- you're both- Brad, I want-" Taako rocks in place, presses his hips against Brad's thigh.

The kissing breaks off, and Brad murmurs "Want what?" into his ear, voice roughened by alcohol and overuse. "What is it you're after, pet? Tell me."

“I want- I want you to-“ Taako breaks off to steady himself, licks his lips. The thrill of admitting to Brad - to  _ himself - _ what role he's been playing all this time was one thing, but it's quite another to ask for what he wants now. To be treated like a toy, like an  _ object, _ as though he has no choice-

Brad pulls back to look at him directly, and Taako can't help the helpless little mewling sound he lets free; the look on Brad's face makes his cock jump, heat pooling in his belly. “You know," he says, grateful for the dim light hiding his warm cheeks. "I want you to do what you want with me."

“What I want?”

Taako exhales, slow and shuddering. “Use me.”

Brad's eyes are so dark. "You've been drinking," he says, but even Taako can hear how feeble an objection it is.

"Brad," he says. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't want - I know you're gonna take care of me." As soon as he says it he wants to chase it away with some line, because it feels terrifying to admit something so big and so raw, even after all the things he's already said tonight. But he swallows the urge back down and lets it sit; watches as Brad takes it in, his fingertips on Taako's face flexing and relaxing.

Finally, Brad says, "I will," and pushes him backward half a step. "I want you to lean back against the wall. Hands on the coat hooks."

Taako's surge of triumph buoys him, turns his movement liquid and careless as he twists and leans backwards. He juts his hips out as blatantly as the instruction allows, the very tips of his fingers curled over the gold hooks set in the wall above his head.

Brad steps back and away from him, arms crossed, as pointed a denial as Taako's seen from him. "Kravitz."

" _ Brad _ -" Taako whines, lust and frustration and excitement crashing together.

"Kravitz," Brad repeats, the hint of a smirk flashing and disappearing. "Make him come."

"Yes," Kravitz says, his own gaze on Taako gone sharp and alien, the look he gets when he forgets to make-believe mortality. He can move quickly, quicker than Brad even, and he's gone to his knees in front of Taako with the dress hiked up his thighs before Taako can draw voice to object again. Kravitz tips his head and the thin light lengthens his cheekbones as he takes Taako's cock to the root in one swift movement.

"Slowly," Brad says coolly, over Taako's yell. "I want him pliant and trembling when I touch him."

Kravitz draws back far enough to murmur "Yes, sir," hotly over the head of Taako's cock, and then takes it in his mouth again; tongues gently at it.

Taako has already forgotten the instruction about the coat hooks and is dropping his hands to bury them in Kravitz' hair when Brad's " _ No _ " cracks out like a whip. Brad’s expression is scrubbed of amusement, arms folded, implacable. "Hands up."

Taako does as he's told.

"After you've come," Brad says, quiet and careful, "I'm going to turn you around against that wall, and I'm going to finger you while you touch Kravitz, and then I'm going to fuck you slowly until I'm satisfied."

Kravitz moans around a mouthful of Taako's cock, wet and hungry, and Taako's hips stutter. He wants nothing more than to curl his hands around the back of Kravitz' head, hold him in place while Taako fucks his beautiful mouth. Which Brad knows, of course. Which is why his hands are curled uselessly above his head.

"I will not be gentle," Brad continues. His gaze on Taako feels like a physical thing, the weight of it settling around his shoulders, holding him in place. "And I intend to ruin that pretty dress."

Taako manages to say "But I wanna come with you inside me," and he sounds ridiculous even to his own ears, voice thick with desire even though the words are petulant.

"You're mine, pet. You belong to me, and I’ll do with you as I like."  Brad takes a step forward, presses a soft touch to Kravitz' shoulder with predatory precision. "Give me your hand."

It's all Taako can do to stifle the ragged, breathy noise he wants to make at the sight of Kravitz, looking up at Brad with his mouth around Taako's dick, uncurling his elegant fingers to hold up his hand, palm forward. Brad folds Kravitz' fingers carefully within his own, dwarfing them as he hums a familiar spell; when his hand falls away there's a new sheen to Kravitz' skin, magically slicked.

Brad crouches, close in behind Kravitz, bracketing him between Brad's thighs. Taako stares helplessly down at both of them; at Brad nosing in to bite Kravitz' neck under the ear, sharp enough to draw an answering noise out of the reaper's throat. "Get him ready for me."

Taako has to close his eyes for a moment and breathe, as Kravitz' fingers seek and find their target, pushing inside him and carefully stretching. It's so hard not to beg, not  to squirm and writhe and press forward into Kravitz' mouth and back against his hand, but some shred of pride stops him, keeps him upright even as he pants and trembles.

Brad stands up and leans against the wall, so close alongside Taako's body that he can feel the heat of Brad’s skin. "Do you like it when I tell Kravitz what to do to you?" he murmurs into Taako's ear. When Taako turns his head, blindly seeking Brad's face, Brad clicks his tongue and slaps him - a bare touch, really, but it cracks over Taako's cheek like the full force of his weight was behind it.  "No, pet, none of that. Eyes forward."

So Taako keeps his eyes on Kravitz, circles his hips in abortive little jerks between the mouth around his cock and the fingers in his ass, tries not to sob when Brad murmurs possessive nonsense at him and tugs viciously at his nipple underneath the dress. As he starts to fall apart, Brad leans in and says "You're  _ mine _ ," low into Taako's ear, biting hard at the lobe.

Taako comes with a sob, his vision going blurry at the edges, shuddering so forcefully Kravitz has to pull away. When Taako manages to focus again he looks down to see Kravitz staring up at him, the eerie look in his eyes at odds with the streak of come on his cheek.

"That won't do," Brad says, and crushes a fistful of the dress in his hand before reaching out to wipe Kravitz' face with it. All at once the reaper looks ordinary again, and he whimpers as he presses his cheek against Brad's hand. "I want you looking tidy, sweetheart."

"Y-yes," Kravitz says, his eyes hungrily tracking Brad's hand and the rise and fall of Taako's chest. "Of course."

"Stand up," Brad instructs. "Back against the wall. Taako - you're going to touch him while I fuck you. Is that alright with you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," Kravitz says, a low hiss, as he staggers to his feet. "Yes, that's perfect." His back hits the wall with a thump and Taako is on him, grinding messily against his thigh, burying his face in Kravitz' neck. 

"Babe. Krav. Are you-"

Kravitz nods, unsteady. "Yes, Taako. Please-" and he cuts off with a strangled noise as Taako presses the heel of his hand against Kravitz' erection. Taako has half a second to feel smug about it before there's a whispering caress of the dress up over his ass, and Brad's fingers pushing inside him. Brad is rough, deliberately so, and his fingers thicker, and even though Taako has come already he can't help but moan at the sweet agony of it, grinding back against Brad's hand, clutching weakly at Kravitz' cock.

"Krav," he breathes. "You gotta - clothes, disappear-"

Kravitz laughs, weakly. "I can't, darling, you asked me to wear real ones-"

Taako curses and tears at Kravitz' trousers and shirt, ignoring the pinging of a button yanked free, jerking as Brad stretches and curls his fingers. He's hyper aware of the movement of Brad's hand even as he levers his own inside Kravitz' underwear, cupping his balls, and curls his other hand around the straining leaking length of Kravitz' cock. He’s clearly been hard for some time, and Taako smears precome along the length of him in sync with the movement of Brad's fingers in his ass.

"Make sure you touch him slowly, pet," Brad says. "I want to watch him come apart while I fuck you."

Kravitz whimpers, his hips jerking against the circle of Taako's hand, the tip of his cock catching and dragging on the fabric of the dress at Taako's hip. There's no real way for Brad to have planned that, but it feels like his work all the same; using them against each other to reduce each other to rubble. 

Taako leans in, presses his forehead against Kravitz' collarbones. "You're wrecking the glad rags, bones."

Kravitz huffs out a short chuckle. "Ever so sorry, darling," he says, the lie of the glib words made bare by the moan he stifles. "I'll try to make it up to you."

"Mmm." Taako nips at his skin. "We'll work it out." And he shudders as Brad's fingers withdraw, are replaced by his cock; an easier slide than usual, but still thick enough to burn, to force a wet moan out of Taako's mouth against Kravitz' chest.

True to his word, Brad isn't gentle. He's twisted the skirt of the dress up in one hand and he presses it against the wall beside Taako's hip, an improvised restraint, pinning him in place against Kravitz. Brad’s other hand is braced above their heads, and when Taako looks up at Brad's arm he can see the flex of his bicep as he thrusts, deep and relentless.

Without the pounding of his own arousal he can focus on the twin slide of Kravitz' cock through his fingers and Brad's inside him; he can feel all of it, the shudder of Kravitz' chest under his palm and the tremble of Brad's arms through the strain of holding him in place. Pinned there between the two of them, feeling them both build towards their own climaxes, is overwhelming; makes Taako desperate and shaky as he matches the slide of his hand to the thrust of Brad's hips.

"Next time I'll make him fuck you first, sweetheart," Brad says, and Kravitz goes from breathing hard and fast to stammering as his hips jerk and stripe Taako's dress with come.

"I said I'd ruin it," Brad says into Taako's ear, and bites at the lobe.

"You're the fuckin' worst," Taako moans, clinging to Kravitz' shoulders, hands sticky with Kravitz' mess. "Please, I wanna feel you  _ come _ -"

"Quiet," Brad says. "Kravitz, kiss him."

Taako leans in immediately - what a good fuckin' idea - and kisses Kravitz, whose mouth opens at once, their tongues curling wet and filthy together. Taako grabs at Kravitz' hair to centre himself, tries not to mewl into his mouth as the snap of Brad's hips grows sharper, faster. Brad's hand curls around his hip, digs in with sharp nails.

"Look at you," he growls, quiet into Taako's ear. "Doing what you're told. You're being such a good little toy for me, aren't you?" Taako whimpers assent into Kravitz' mouth. "Trying so hard. You look good like this, smeared and debauched and split open on my cock."

Taako pulls away from Kravitz to gasp. "Brad-"

"You've been good, pet," Brad says, his own voice growing strained as his thrusting goes ragged. "I'm going to give you what you want." And he comes with a quiet grunt, the pulsing of his cock echoing the hammering of Taako's blood in his ears, the jump of Kravitz' breath under his hands.

They stand there, trembling, as Brad gets a hold of himself; leans back in and down to kiss Kravitz slow and gentle. As he breaks the kiss, Kravitz murmurs "Good party," against his lips, which makes Brad snort out a laugh and Taako give a helpless giggle, which turns to a whine as Brad carefully slides his softening cock out of Taako's ass.

"Both of you should clean up and get in bed," Brad says quietly. "I'll be right behind you."

Taako doesn't need to be told twice. He yanks the dress over his head - wrinkling his nose at the stickier patches - and drops it to the floor. "C'mon, Krav."

Kravitz makes a comical picture, leaning against the wall with his junk hanging out of his trousers, otherwise mostly still dressed. "I haven't even taken my shoes off yet."

"I can help you with your shoes," Taako says, giggling, as Kravitz tucks his dick back in his underwear. "S'the benefit of heels, you just kick 'em off." He loops his arm through Kravitz' and drags him off towards the bedroom, gleefully gratified by his own nakedness. "You should wear the sexy dress next time, it's way more efficient."

"Again,  _ someone _ wanted me to wear  _ real clothes, _ " Kravitz says, pointed. Taako blows a raspberry as they both stumble into the ensuite.

Six months ago Taako would've fallen into bed without a second thought this late at night, but thanks to Brad's influence cleaning his face is automatic. He and Kravitz manoeuvre around each other as the reaper performs his own bathroom routine - mostly pointless, except for the chance to brush past each other and share debauched grins at their matching marks.

Brad isn't even in the room but his presence is oddly grounding, and Taako feels an unavoidable swell of fondness for it; for how deftly Brad can bring him back to himself even after reducing him to a threadbare mess in the entryway to his own apartment.

The dedication to a bathroom routine doesn't include an actual shower. Taako gestures them both clean and shoves Kravitz - now thankfully unclothed - ahead of him onto the bed, exhausted and grateful and flattened by relief. They curl into each other, breathing quietly, waiting.

When Brad arrives a few minutes later - silhouette outlined by moonlight in the doorway - Taako can tell he's got glasses of water in his hands. That same warm stab of fondness hits him again, and multiplies when Brad lingers, awkwardly, in the doorway.

"You're definitely in the middle, big guy," Taako drawls, and pulls away from Kravitz, who mirrors the movement. There's a shuffle as they reposition, glasses of water set in place on each side table. Taako watches Brad curl up his tie, toe off his shoes, undo all the buttons of his hopelessly sweaty dress shirt; he takes off his clothes the same way he put them on, all precision and care, and then murmurs a quiet cleaning spell which - okay, sure, Taako didn't wanna go to bed smelling like a club either, but he sort of regrets not revelling in the sweaty Brad smell when he had the chance.

Brad does a final pass to clean off the last smudges of eyeliner, and he looks almost normal as he clambers over the top of Taako to position himself in the centre of the bed. They've done this often enough now that Taako knows how to settle himself against Brad's chest such that he can still reach over and trace patterns on Kravitz' wrist. 

The ping of Brad's Stone, usually muted, breaks the silence of the room. 

Brad flicks it open as Taako links his fingers with Kravitz' over Brad's chest, and when Taako chances a glance up at him he's frowning, the glow lighting up his face as he reads. 

“Everything okay?” Taako asks.

Brad hesitates a moment. And then he says, quiet, “I told Lucretia about Sloane’s offer, just now in the kitchen. I thought...“ The frown deepens. “I don’t know. It's the middle of the night, I assumed she wouldn’t see it until morning. Maybe not until after the holiday.”

Taako doesn’t want to hear about Lucretia right now, not here in his own bed, kind of not ever. But this is juicy, and he  _ does _ wanna know what’s up with Brad’s work shit, and so. “She trying to win you over? Big raise?”

Brad closes the spell and leans across Taako to set his dimmed stone on the bedside table. Then he settles back into place, and licks his lips, and says, “She told me I should take the job.”

Taako's mind races. He opens his mouth, but he can't settle on something to say, and then he loses his chance. “Of course you’ll take it,” Kravitz says, brusque but not unkind, deliberately ignoring the strung-out tension of the preceding silence. “It’s a good career move. And you’ll be closer to the person you love.”

There’s no emphasis on any particular word, but there doesn't need to be; both Brad and Taako startle at ‘person’, and Taako looks over at Kravitz, silently pleading that he's not...that this won't be  _ weird _ ...

They both hesitate to say something for too long and Kravitz scoffs, though still not unkindly.

“I’m not blind,” he says to them, gently. “And I flatter myself that I know you both quite well.”

Taako finally finds his voice. “Krav,” he says, unsure. “I didn't - we didn't - it wasn't a secret-“

Kravitz snorts his dismissal, waves a hand. He's just shades of grey in this light, but he looks supremely unconcerned, and Taako feels selfishly grateful for it. “These things are rarely neat, are they?” Kravitz props himself up on Brad’s chest, to look at both of them. “But that’s no reason not to take advantage of this very kind and very sensible offer.” He pokes at Brad's skin. “I’d imagine there aren’t too many career opportunities which fit you quite so neatly.”

“I like the Bureau.” Brad clearly recognises how thin it sounds as soon as he's said it, because his mouth twists wryly.

“Best time to leave it, then,” Kravitz says. “Terrible idea to stay until you hate it.”

“There’s still so much to-“

“And yet you’re  _ constantly _ telling stories about how your secretary does everything you do,” Kravitz says shrewdly. “Are you so irreplaceable?”

Taako is half-listening to this conversation, distracted by how strange he feels that the first person to encourage Brad to take a job in Goldcliff was  _ Lucretia _ , followed by  _ Kravitz _ . He feels strangely bereft of the opportunity to be the first one to voice his support, but this is all so...it's sudden.

But it fills him with hope, too, and excitement; the first inklings of anticipation stirring in his fatigued brain. "Brad," he says, into the following quiet. "I mean, I'm kinda…" He laughs. "I'm the worst person to ask, I don’t have a job and I’m like, super self-interested, but. It’d be." He has to break off, a sudden well of emotion threatening to leak into his voice. He breathes through it. “It’d be really nice. To have you here.”

“Of course it would,” Kravitz agrees, his straightforward cheerfulness a relief. “I’m self-interested too, but it seems to me everyone’s interests have aligned quite neatly.”

Brad shifts beneath them, hands tracing up and down their spines. “I need to think about it.”

“By all means,” Kravitz says. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Taako is already thinking about it; has raced down the path of how they can accommodate this into their lives. It'd be easy, is the thing - Brad's apartment is small, he doesn't own a ton of stuff, and what stuff he  _ does _ own has that reserved stylishness that would probably ground the rest of their apartment's clutter. They can put the record player out on display on the sideboard that he and Kravitz currently just use to store junk on. They can rotate out some of their wardrobe - Kravitz' apartment in the astral plane is basically storage anyway - and give Brad space for his things. 

The thought of how much easier it would have been to organise going to this dumb fundraiser if Brad lived  _ with _ them has Taako convinced. He doesn't want to let himself be too optimistic, but god, Brad is lying next to him stroking his back after coming to a fancy event and being introduced as Taako's  _ boyfriend,  _ which seems to have gone pretty fucking well. Kravitz already knows Taako loves Brad and Brad loves Taako and everything is kind of working out in a way it hasn't for a really long time, and Taako wants to lean into it for a bit, get comfortable with things going really well for once.

"Yeah," he says, and burrows closer into Brad's chest; flexes his fingers within the grip of Kravitz' hand. "We're not going anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your enthusiasm for this one, folks. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Jack River's 'Confess'.
> 
> Also AO3 user millionwrites [made](https://66.media.tumblr.com/a6e26f82ecfd9bc66d5a8f218b38c941/tumblr_ppfa4b1r4h1xhbizlo2_1280.pnj) [some](https://66.media.tumblr.com/45849b2b06b9de7d0bf825d6936b6b9a/tumblr_ppfa4b1r4h1xhbizlo1_540.pnj) [art](https://66.media.tumblr.com/0709fcc5398c196548a4df1065b5aa43/tumblr_ppfa4b1r4h1xhbizlo3_540.pnj) (vague spoilers!) and it RULES!!


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